


P is for Pressure

by whumpertrooper



Series: A to Z Charlie whump [12]
Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: A to Z whump challenge, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Suspense, TW: Mentions of Child Abuse, head the warnings folks, this is a dark one, tw: mentions of animal cruelty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24823360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumpertrooper/pseuds/whumpertrooper
Summary: Once again, Charlie and Lucien managed to find unexpected trouble during what was supposed to be a simple search of the murder scene. Part of the A to Z Charlie Whump Challenge.
Series: A to Z Charlie whump [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1307558
Comments: 30
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another whump fic. This one was a bit unplanned, based on a prompt from the wonderful 99percentsure. As usual, the fic veered away from the prompt, but what can one do.
> 
> Warnings: Contains mention of child abuse and animal cruelty. Nothing too graphic, but... be warned. This fic is dark all around, so thread carefully. Or skip altogether.
> 
> As always, fic is already written, chapters will be uploaded daily. No worries, this a short one :)

A cat. This all started with a stupid cat. Well, not really, Charlie amended his thoughts. He quite liked the four legged, stubborn headed creatures. Perhaps that was the problem.

He noticed the victim's couch. Or rather the poor state of it, full of unmistakeable scratches. The victim was a 60 year old woman, living alone in a house not that far from the police station. Charlie thought he might've even seen her once or twice during patrol, but that was hard to tell. People's faces changed in death, especially when their throats were cut and all the blood left the body.

Charlie grimaced as he cut through the tape on the front door. A postman found the victim a day before and of course they searched the place. There was no cat there. There were also no dishes or litter for the cat, so yesterday, Charlie and Bill assumed the couch was old and the cat was no longer there. Just as well. Charlie really hated when there was a pet in the house of the deceased. Somehow, looking at those wide innocent eyes expecting their owner to come alive and give them scratches or throw a ball drove in the fact someone was left behind. You might explain to a person that their loved one was dead. It hurt and Charlie hated doing that as well, but people in the end understood. A pet... hell. A pet would wait till the end, expecting their owner to return.

Blake had taken away the body and they had confiscated all the knives in the house, hoping to find the murder weapon. Then they spent the rest of the day going around interviewing the neighbours. The victim... _Mrs. Janice Downey_ , Charlie reminded himself, realizing if nothing else, the person was owed their name. Whatever their state of being. Mrs. Janice Downey was a loner, as everyone around had said. No one knew that much about her, despite the fact she had moved into the house five years earlier. Where from was a mystery. The only thing her neighbours knew was the fact she kept most of the time inside, ignored all attempts at friendliness and the only beings she ever smiled at were the cats.

She kept a dish or two outside on the porch, so much so that several neighbour cats had decided to come over her house quite frequently. She also had a tabby that sometimes got into a fight. Overall, the neighbours tolerated her, only on occasion they stopped by to find their own missing cat lounging on Mrs. Downey's porch.

Until few weeks ago that is.

Suddenly, the dishes were gone. And with them, several of the cats.

A family living three houses down was especially frantic when their kitten went missing, last to be seen wandering into Mrs. Downey's yard. Their daughter had gone looking there, only to be chased away by a scared looking Janice.

Charlie didn't know what to think about it, until he reached the last house on the block. The man living there was the silent type. Charlie asked him what he knew about Mrs. Downey. He shook his head, his face turning into an angry scowl.

"Cat lady," he snarled and spit on the ground, barely missing Charlie's shoe. Charlie grimaced and moved his feet away.

"Can you tell me anything else about her? Did you see anything unusual these last few days? Anyone holding a grudge against her?" Charlie tried to keep his tone neutral, the pen and notepad waiting in his hand for information.

The man scowled then jerked his head, inviting Charlie in. With some hesitation, Charlie followed. He put the pen and notepad away, one hand resting on his side where the baton was. Just in case... seeing as the man was muttering under his breath and leading him past a living room, through the house.

"Sir? Can you stop please and answer my questions?" Charlie requested, but the man just snorted and opened the back door, leading Charlie out into the back garden.

"What is the meaning of this?" Charlie asked, frowning. The man pointed towards what looked like a freshly dug earth. There was a black collar lying on the top, nothing else.

Charlie unwittingly took a step closer.

"That's Rocky. My dog."

Charlie blinked, somehow not expecting that.

"What happened?"

"Rocky sometimes used to chase the neighbour cats. Sometimes, he followed them to Downey's house. Last week..." The man swallowed and it was clear he was trying to force down his emotions. "Last week... he didn't come back home for dinner, so I went looking for him. I found him... in the bushes. By the Downey's house."

The man's voice choked but Charlie saw that any gesture of sympathy wouldn't be welcome. So he stood there, waiting for the man to continue.

"His throat was cut," the man finally uttered, teeth clenched in anger, eyes filled with hate. Charlie tensed. "Like a lamb to the slaughter."

"What did you do, Mr. Lewis?" Charlie asked, keeping his voice still carefully neutral, even though he was calculating his chances if the man decided to attack.

"I took my dog and buried him," Mr. Lewis answered, eyes cold.

"Did you return to Mrs. Downey's house?"

The man's eyes narrowed.

"Mr. Lewis. Did you confront Mrs. Downey?"

"I tried, alright? But the woman... she never answered the door. So I left."

Charlie didn't really believe that. Not when he saw the anger and hatred in those eyes.

"I think you better come with me, Mr. Lewis."

"What? Why?"

"I'll have a few more questions at the station."

"I didn't do anything! It was her who killed my dog!"

"We will just talk, Mr. Lewis," Charlie said and pointedly put his hand to his back, as if reaching for the handcuffs. "You can come with me for a chat, or I can escort you out in handcuffs. Your choice."

The man's shoulders sagged.

Charlie was pleasantly surprised that there wasn't a fight after all. Of course that didn't last once they reached the police station.

Mr. Lewis ended up in the interview room... and after an hour of talking or perhaps staring at the wall in silence, he lost his temper.

"I didn't do it, alright? But whoever did, I applaud him! That bitch deserved to go, the same way Rocky did!"

"That's enough!" Lawson roared, slamming his hands down on the desk, obviously losing patience. "Book him for the night," he added with disgust.

"Do you think he did it, Boss?" Charlie asked later that day. Lewis didn't have an alibi and he had some sort of a motive, but so far that was all. No hard evidence and Charlie had his doubts.

"I don't think so. There was no sign of break in and if she didn't let him in the first time, I see no reason for doing it later on."

"I'm just puzzled by the cat," Charlie admitted.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone knew she had a cat but there was none at the house. Other cats went missing too, although no one found them yet. Or they didn't admit it," Charlie noted, realizing that perhaps someone else found their pet but they were better at hiding their rage than Mr. Lewis. Still, something didn't fit.

"That woman obviously liked the animals. She was feeding them the whole time she lived there. I can't see her going on a killing spree..."

"If she didn't do it, then there shouldn't be a reason for someone else taking revenge in such a way," Lawson agreed.

"Unless the killer didn't know it wasn't her," Charlie added.

"Or the killer is someone else and the animals were just the first step."

Charlie grimaced at that.

"I like that option even less," he muttered, knowing well that would mean only one thing. The killer was more than likely ready to repeat his actions.

* * *

The next day started out almost as grimly as the previous one. First order of business was digging up the dog. Charlie grimaced when Blake made that suggestion, but the man's arguments were solid. They needed to find out if the dog was killed by the same weapon as Mrs. Downey. If so, the likelihood of Lewis being the killer was even smaller.

Charlie was fortunately spared from the gruesome task as one of the young constables had managed to piss Lawson off right in the morning. Lawson of course thought a bit of dirty work was just the right punishment for the poor soul. Charlie wanted to protest for barely a second, thinking the young guy's transgression hardly fit the crime, but one glance at Lawson told him if he opened his mouth, it would be him with the shovel. So he looked away and focused on the report he was writing.

Unfortunately for Charlie, he could not get out of listening to Blake's findings a bit later on, embellished by graphic description as the Doc was fond of doing. Being as it was just before lunch hour, Charlie lost his appetite. Lawson also didn't look so keen on finishing his sandwich. Blake of course saw nothing wrong about that.

"It was a straight razor... same as Mrs. Downey. A clean cut. Seems like our killer is rather handy with it. Most likely right handed."

"So that just leaves every other guy in Ballarat as our suspect?" Charlie noted with disdain.

"Perhaps. Or a professional barber." Blake shrugged.

"We have several barber shops in town. Do you want me to go through all of them?" Charlie asked dubiously. His last encounter with a barber during a case wasn't the most enjoyable one, no thanks to Lawson egging the man on while he was holding a blade to Charlie's neck.

"No, not unless we find some connection. Owning a straight razor is hardly a crime," Lawson noted with a grimace.

"What now then? Besides the missing cats and the dog we have no motive and no suspects. None of the neighbours saw a thing. There were no signs of struggle inside the house..."

"But the body had been moved at some point. And it was found quite early on. Two or three hours after the murder," Blake noted. "The neighbours didn't notice anyone visiting in the last few days? Or in the past?"

Charlie shook his head.

"Nope. All of them said she was a recluse."

"It just doesn't fit. No forced entry? Who would she let inside her house and not put up a fight when they pulled out a blade?"

"Well, the killer must've been standing behind her, right?" Charlie argued.

"Exactly. Now tell me Charlie, if you were an older lady who never had any visitors, would you let a stranger inside your house and turn your back on them?"

Charlie shook his head.

"That means she most likely knew the killer. Maybe someone from her past..."

"Someone who was in town for at least a week or two... because the animals kept going missing," Lawson pointed out.

"We are missing something," Blake said with a sigh, a frown marring his face. "I think we need to go back to the scene of crime and look around. Perhaps we can find some letters... after all, the postman was there regularly at least."

Lawson seemed to think about it only for a moment then nodded.

"Alright. I'm assuming you want to snoop around?" he turned to Blake who gave him an almost innocent smirk in reply.

"Why, you know me so well Matthew."

Lawson rolled his eyes.

"Davis, go with him. Make sure he doesn't mess with the evidence if you happen to find any."

"Yes, Boss," Charlie nodded and grabbed his blazer. He was hoping they will find something before having to let Lewis go. The man might not have been the killer, but Charlie still wasn't very fond of him.

* * *

When they arrived to the house, Blake had first wanted to examine the back garden. Charlie knew he was looking for signs of freshly (or not so freshly) dug animal graves. There was none. Just as there were no dishes with cat food, yet even during their visit, Charlie spotted two different cats lurking around, as if waiting for Mrs. Downey to reappear. They gave a rather dissatisfied mewl when she didn't and neither Blake nor Charlie offered treats.

While Blake was looking at the ground and grass, Charlie was looking at the fencing. It wouldn't be hard to jump over the fence, it wasn't that high, but the back garden was surrounded by neighbours from all three sides. Someone was bound to notice a stranger going through their garden surely. There was a small shed by the further end of the garden and Charlie went there, hoping to find something. Anything.

He pulled the unlocked door open.

The shed was mostly empty. There were few gardening tools... a rather clean shovel. A five pound bag of cat litter.

Charlie grimaced.

"Anything interesting?" Blake asked appearing behind his back. Charlie shook his head.

"Not really. I do wonder what happened to her cat though."

"Maybe we will find out. Let's go inside," Blake patted Charlie on the shoulder and they headed towards the front door. Charlie looked at the police tape, reassured when he found it unbroken. The back door leading to the garden was also taped up and he hasn't noticed any attempt at forced entry. That meant if there was any evidence to be found, the killer didn't get a chance to take it or tamper with it.

"I wonder how she could afford such a large house," Charlie mused.

Blake paused in thought, looking around. Indeed, it was a two storey house with several bedrooms. It seemed to be too large for one person, an old lady with a cat. Charlie would understand if she rented out some rooms, that would explain how she could afford it. But everything pointed to the fact she wasn't in need of money.

"She wasn't working?"

Charlie shook his head.

"Nope. And the house was paid for upfront."

Blake's brow rose.

"Really," he muttered, looking around the entry hall with renewed interest. "Did you find any money lying around? Or did she have a bank account?"

"Neither. All we found was maybe a week's worth of grocery money in the kitchen cupboard."

"What about the postman? Was he perhaps bringing her checks?"

Charlie once again shook his head.

"No. He said it were mostly just magazines, an odd letter or two from Sydney and Perth. And the usual utilities bills."

"Let's try and find those letters then?" Blake advised and Charlie nodded. He knew they had already gone over the place for evidence of intrusion, but they weren't really looking through personal items and writings.

"Where do you want to start?"

"Living room and kitchen."

"I'll head upstairs then, to the bedroom."

Blake nodded, his eyes already roaming over the table near the door.

"Doc? Call me if you find anything," Charlie said with a sigh.

"Of course Charlie," Blake replied with a hint of a smile and a wave of his hand.

Charlie grunted, realizing the man was already in his world. He better get working as well.

He walked up the stairs and towards the bedroom. He was one of the first at the scene two days ago but didn't really know the layout. It was Bill and two constables going over the place, while Charlie headed out interviewing the neighbours almost right away. He did canvass the site initially, but didn't pay that much attention to small details. Like the fact there were no family photos anywhere. To be exact, there wasn't one single photograph to be seen. Instead, there were paintings of cats and trees everywhere. Charlie paused in front of one of the paintings and tried to read through the signature at the bottom. It said Janice Wheeler. He frowned, looking at another painting. Same name, same style. He wondered whether the same first name was just a coincidence or whether Downey wasn't the victim's real name.

He decided to ask Blake about the paintings later and broaden his search also to personal documents, such as marriage lists or a birth certificate.

Having a plan, Charlie entered the woman's bedroom, trying hard not to feel like some kind of a voyeur. He really wasn't fan of this part of the job. Going through someone's personal belongings. While on one hand it was interesting to look into a person's life, on the other it was a breach of privacy. The only consolation was that he was doing this to try and help find a killer.

Slowly and meticulously, Charlie went through the room, looking through the closet and several hat boxes. He was expecting letters to fall out, or old family photos, trinkets... any reminder of a past life. There was nothing though. Only hats and clothes that seemed to have been several years out of fashion. Charlie grimaced, trying to think where a woman might hide her most sacred belongings. Perhaps he should ask Jean at dinner tonight. She always had her own look at the case, so different from all of them.

Giving up with the bedroom, Charlie headed back into the hall and the other two rooms. They looked mostly unused... guest rooms for no guests. Charlie noted cat hair on the bed sheet, but no cat. Also no clothes or anything else in the room. Frustrated and getting more perplexed by the whole setup, Charlie entered the third room.

Once again, it looked empty. The only difference was the smell.

Charlie frowned. In the other room all he smelled was dust and the musky smell of a cat that was all over the house despite the lack of animal.

This room was different; Charlie just couldn't put a finger on it. He could've sworn he caught a whiff of cigarette smoke? But he didn't smell it anywhere else in the house and the window was closed. Perhaps it was his imagination... Charlie opened the door to a closet. It was empty and he closed it with a grimace. He turned and get down on all fours to check under the bed, just in case there was a box with hidden treasures. His foot hit the wall. Charlie paused.

He did the same in the room next door, yet there was less space. He stood back up, the only treasure under the bed a pair of old socks buried in cobwebs and dust. Probably served as the cat's chew toy at one time.

Charlie took a few steps back from the bed, his eyes roaming the room. It was definitely smaller. Though that was hardly strange... houses didn't tend to have uniform room dimensions. Still... the smell of the cigarettes lingered in the air, a bit stronger near the closet. Charlie stepped out of the room, walking a few steps down the corridor, his eyes trying to figure out the layout. He stepped into another room, one that supposedly served as an office for the original owner if the built in wall of library was anything to go by. Now it was just a room with empty shelves with an occasional magazine and a sewing machine in the corner.

Charlie went back to the corridor.

"Doc? Can you come here for a second?" he called out, hoping to get another opinion. Perhaps he was imagining the smell. Perhaps he was mistaken about the dimensions...

"In a moment Charlie," came the responding call. Charlie let out a sigh. If he knew Blake, the man had found something that caught his attention. That moment could very well last ten minutes.

Maybe he could figure it out first, before making a fool of himself anyway.

Charlie headed back towards the second bedroom and once again opened the closet door. If there was a secret door, he should be able to find it surely. He started with knocking on the back wall of the closet. It sounded sturdy enough. Charlie frowned and stepped inside the closet. It was high and wide enough to accommodate him and there were no clothes in the way. He started feeling around the sides, looking for some kind of switch. Nothing.

He ran his fingers above his head. There was a steel bar used for the hangers. Charlie grasped it and tried to shake it, checking its sturdiness. It didn't move on either side, but when Charlie twisted his fingers... the bar turned. There was a click.

Charlie blinked, his heart giving a leap.

He turned the bar just a bit more and he saw that the back wall of the closet had moved a bit, as if a spring was released. He could see the light of a lamp shining through the gap.

The door to the room opened and he heard footsteps.

"Doc? I found something!" he called out, excitedly, turning his head towards Blake.

It wasn't Blake.

Charlie didn't see the face, all he caught was the sight of an arm in a dark brown flannel shirt heading his way.

Charlie's eyes widened but he didn't have time to react. A body larger than his own pushed against his back with a force that drove him face first into the closet's back wall. He felt the wood smack him on the face but it didn't stop his movement. The wall gave way and he was pushed inside the darkened space. Charlie let out a yelp and stumbled, expecting to fall, but his attacker already had a grip on the back of his shirt.

Charlie tried to spin around but the man was too close and there was no room. He was pushed against another wall then the flannel wearing arm curled around his throat. Another meaty hand wrapped around his chest, effectively pulling him into a tight and unwelcome embrace.

Charlie cried out but the arm around his neck pulled in and suddenly he felt himself being hauled up by his throat, the pressure over his windpipe tightening. His cry was drowned out in a splutter, then a breathless gasp, a choked off grunt.

His attacker was larger and higher than Charlie. He had no trouble holding him up so that all Charlie could use for support were his tiptoes. That made fighting back so much harder. Not that he didn't try. His left arm was trapped under the man's arm wrapped around his chest, but his right arm was free. Charlie used his elbow to deliver several blows into the man's stomach. It felt as if he was hitting stone. The only reaction it got was an ever tightening grip on his throat.

Charlie's strength was waning, his eyes started to bulge from the growing pressure. His lungs screamed for oxygen and his heart... dear lord... his heart threatened to explode.

Charlie made another attempt at squirming out of the grip, raising his free arm upwards, trying to reach his attacker's face. Gouge out his eyes, slap him on the ear. Anything to make the deathly grip slacken.

Nothing worked though.

He heard a chuckle, then a growl. The man's mouth brushed near his ear and he could now smell the cigs on his breath, along with rotting food. Charlie would've turned away in disgust, but he couldn't.

"You just had to snoop around, didn't you?" the deep voice spoke and Charlie closed his eyes, hoping to will away the dark spots that started to appear on the edge of his vision.

He made a pitiful attempt at making a sound.

The man chuckled then froze.

"Hush," the man said, as if talking to a small, recalcitrant child.

Charlie didn't know why, until he heard it.

" _Charlie? Where on earth did you go?"_

Blake.

Charlie totally forgot.

He wasn't alone. There was someone else in the house with him.

Someone that could help.

He felt a rush of adrenaline go through his body and his muscles tensed in preparation. For what, he didn't know. He didn't get a chance to find out though.

"Don't." One word of warning, the arm around his chest constricting as a boa, making his ribs cry out in protest. "He comes here... I'll slice him up like a pig."

It was said so calmly... almost excitedly.

" _Charlie?"_

Blake's voice was closer. So close in fact... Charlie knew he had to be standing in the bedroom, mere feet from the closet and the false door his attacker had managed to close during the skirmish.

He wanted to cry out. He wanted Blake's help.

But Blake wasn't a cop. He was a civilian, he was a friend. He might've been able to handle the situation, perhaps.

Charlie couldn't risk it.

He was leaning on his tiptoes, one arm pushed tight against his side, the other grasping feebly at the meaty arm wrapped around his throat. His nails dug into flannel, not even cutting skin. His mind was getting murky and his vision blurred, while his lungs kept screaming louder and louder for even the smallest bit of oxygen.

As if in taunt, the man eased up on the grip, only for a second. Only long enough for Charlie to take in a gasped breath. Only enough to allow him a cry if he decided so, to lure in his next victim.

Charlie would not submit. He bit down on his tongue, tasting blood, just to stop himself from calling out. His eyes were closed tight, whole body shaking in realization that he was going to die there. Still he prayed that Blake kept walking, that he left the room and the house. He prayed that Blake would be safe, even if it meant he would be left alone with a monster.

There was a sound of a muttered curse, but it was muffled. Charlie didn't know if it was because Blake was leaving or if it was because his ears suddenly felt clogged. His head... it felt as if he was being submerged. Outside sensations were becoming muffled, while his inner thoughts were screaming inside his head so loud it threatened to explode.

There was no escape.

He was going to die and afterwards Blake was most likely going to die as well, because there was no way the man would just give up and leave.

Charlie wanted to cry but there were no tears. There was no air.

'Dead.'

He would be dead.

Only a matter of seconds, Charlie knew. He could feel his consciousness slipping away and the only thing stopping him from succumbing was the low chuckle. The shaking of the chest he was pulled against. That bastard was laughing.

'Dead!' a voice that might not have been Charlie's own screamed in last ditch effort and Charlie's whole body jerked, as if in spasm.

Then all his muscles went slack.

Charlie's arm slipped down to his side lifelessly, his feet no longer straying to keep support. His body slumped and the pressure on his neck grew, so much so he thought it would snap.

The arm let go.

Charlie collapsed on the floor like a marionette with cut strings.

It hurt, but he didn't dare to try and soften his fall.

He lay there on the floor, crumpled and every last bit of his strength focused on stopping his chest from heaving, to stop his lungs from gasping for breath.

He knew he had to stay still, to try and do with what little oxygen he could pull through his nose and not curl up into a ball and weep and heave as his body desperately wanted to.

"Such a wuss," the man snorted and spat, the glob landing on Charlie's arm. "Playing dead?"

The words were accompanied by a swift kick into Charlie's back.

He couldn't stop the gasp or his body's response.

"I thought so," the man said, his voice more amused than anything. Charlie gave up the pretence and opened his eyes wide, his mouth opening as well in an attempt to draw as much air as possible. Even with the arm no longer wrapped around his throat however it seemed an impossible feat.

"What... having trouble breathing? Perhaps you just need a bit of help."

The man's eyes glinted and Charlie saw the crooked smile on the bearded, unkempt face. The man was indeed huge, like a lumberjack. Now he was towering over Charlie's crumpled form like an executioner ready to deliver the lethal blow.

The man pulled something out of his pocket. Charlie couldn't make out what it was, his vision too blurry to see anything except a glint of silver as the thing caught the light from the lamp.

The man knelt down on one knee next to Charlie's body and he waved the silver thing in front of Charlie's wide eyes. His sight caught on the sharp edge of the straight blade. It was mere inches from his face, so close the steel fogged up when Charlie gasped.

The man's own grin widened and Charlie saw the blade moving closer.

"Little pig to slaughter," the mad man sing-songed and pressed the blade to the already bruised skin just under Charlie's jaw line.

Charlie couldn't stop the whimper as he felt the edge slide over the skin, cutting into flesh and drawing blood.

Charlie's eyes locked onto the eyes of his attacker, wide and terrified.

There was no escape.

He could feel the blade move and with some push of adrenaline he managed to turn his head, to pull away. The end of the blade buried deeper before it was jerked away violently.

An angry shout reverberated through the small space.

The attacker's head jerked backwards just in time to be met by a nearby chair being slung at his face.

Charlie could only numbly follow the movement, as Blake slammed the chair over his attacker's head, sending him to the floor. The wood cracked and fell to pieces but Blake continued with his attack with the spare leg that was left in his hand, beating the man over the head with raw fury Charlie scarcely saw.

He wanted to help, wanted to tell Blake to run and call backup. A little part of him wanted Blake to pick up the blade that was now lying on the floor, coated in red, and give the man his own medicine. But that was a fleeting thought, suppressed by Charlie's body screaming in protest. He scrambled back, out of the fight's way, pressing his back into the wall. His right arm trembling at the effort to give some support and stop him from slumping into a heap. The left went up towards his neck, shaking fingers pressing against the wound.

Charlie felt the warm blood trickling down his neck, under his collar. He took gulping breathes in an attempt to assuage his lungs but he could still feel the pressure on his throat. If he closed his eyes his own hand felt constricting, stopping the precious oxygen from entering.

In front of him, Blake was now delivering a kick to the fallen man.

Charlie thought he might be dead already.

He didn't care.

"Doc?" he tried, wishing Blake to stop, desperately seeking help. He needed Blake to look at him and tell him he was going to be alright. He needed the man to say that it was but a nick and his throat wasn't slit open. That he won't bleed out, here, on a dirty floor of some secret room.

His voice failed.

He barely managed to make a sound, a rusty croak that might've as well been just the floor creaking under the assault.

Blake still heard him.

Charlie blinked, willing away the tears threatening to join the sticky wetness already running down his neck.

"Charlie!" Blake's head shot up, eyes wide and that was the moment Charlie realized the man thought him dead. His mouth moved but the only thing escaping was a moan and a gasp for breath.

Charlie felt like a fish dragged out of the water.

Blake momentarily gave up on his path of destructive revenge. He shot one look at the fallen attacker, seemingly satisfied at his obvious unconsciousness, then crossed the small space and fell onto his knees right next to Charlie.

His eyes were wide and horrified, but also assessing.

"Dear lord, I thought-" Blake shook his head, stopping himself from finishing. He reached out, his hands gently trying to pry away Charlie's fingers, already coated in blood. His own blood.

"Let... let me see," Blake spoke, his voice just a bit shaky. "Please, Charlie."

Charlie swallowed or he tried to. It felt like swallowing glass.

"Doc," he mouthed, not even knowing if it was a plea for help or a question. Would he live?

"It's alright, Charlie. Just... allow me-" Blake pulled away the now lax fingers. Charlie saw the short grimace crossing his face before Blake's face smoothed and the man nodded.

"It's... it's okay. He... he missed the carotid. You'll be fine, Charlie. I promise... you'll be fine," Blake reassured him even as his own hand pressed against the wound, the other hand grasping around for something, anything, to stem the bleeding.

Charlie's sight was getting more and more blurry but that just might've been the tears suddenly filling his eyes. It was nothing, he tried to tell himself. Blake said it was going to be alright. If there was one person Charlie trusted, it was Blake.

He closed his eyes only for a moment, trying to get a handle over his emotions. Trying to focus on breathing, trying to stop his body from fighting off the pressure on his neck. He was just trying to breathe.

Blake had finally managed to find some cloth, a hopefully clean handkerchief and he pressed it against the wound, causing Charlie's eyes to jerk open as he gasped.

"Sorry. We need to stop the bleeding. Can you-"

But Charlie wasn't listening to him. His eyes caught sight of movement and all he could do was let out a warning as a body lunged at them with a cry of rage.


	2. Chapter 2

Where the hell was Charlie?

First he called out for him then he vanished?

Blake had been busy going through Mrs. Downey's desk drawer and the files he found there. Buried under a stack of magazines and bills, there was a folder with personal documents. Pushed deep back into the drawer, so much so Blake would have missed it if he wasn't looking exactly for that.

He pulled it out and started browsing through the papers. They were legal documents, a birth certificate, health records. The pages were yellowed. There were also several photos of a small girl with her parents, a teenage girl and finally an adult woman with a bundle in her arms. She looked happy and proud, even though there was a hint of sadness in those eyes.

Blake shook off the sudden nostalgia, trying not to think of his own daughter. He returned to the birth certificate, just to make sure it belonged to Mrs. Downey. Or perhaps he should be calling her Mrs. Wheeler, Blake thought as he saw the name. At first he thought that the woman had just changed her name after marriage as the custom dictated. But then his eyes paused at the birth date. It was different from the one he remembered from the autopsy report. Now... changing ones name was one thing. There were plenty of reasons for that. But why the change of the birth date?

That was the moment when Charlie called out to him and Blake replied he would be there in a moment, though his mind was still focused on the folder in his hands. He was looking for a marriage certificate or another birth certificate, this one for the child.

Nothing.

There was another photo of Mrs. Downey/Wheeler with a child. The photo was clearly posed. She was sitting in a high chair, whole body stiff and tense. She had a slight smile on her face but it was clear she was pretending. On her lap sat a boy, no older than five. He was pouting as children do. Behind them stood a burly looking man. He was huge and strict looking, with a clear cut jaw and a piercing gaze. His hand was resting on the woman's shoulder, as if keeping her in place.

Blake felt his teeth clench. He knew that type. Ruthless brutes who loved to showcase their power on those most vulnerable.

He supposed perhaps that man was the reason why Mrs. Wheeler fled to Ballarat and changed her identity. But that was all just supposition.

The house creaked.

Or well, the floorboards did somewhere above and Blake was reminded that Charlie wanted to talk to him. Well, Blake had something to share as well. He took the folder and headed upstairs expecting to find Charlie waiting for him in the corridor.

It was empty.

"Charlie?" he called out, looking around and trying to figure out where his wayward companion might've been.

No response.

That was strange.

The house was large, but not so large as to not hear someone's call.

Blake noted the door to one of the rooms was partially open so he headed that way.

"Charlie?" he called out, though realized quickly Charlie wasn't there. The room was empty except for the bed and closet. Grimacing, Blake tapped the folder against his leg in irritation.

"Charlie? Where on earth did you go?" he asked no one in particular, because Charlie clearly wasn't there.

With a shake of his head, Blake headed back out into the hallway and stepped into the next room with the open door. It was an office of sorts.

No sign of Charlie still and Blake bit at his lip in thought.

It was unlike his friend to just vanish... that was more Blake's forte.

Something wasn't right and Blake's mind started coming up with different scenarios. He didn't like either of them. With a frown, he looked around the room, ready to get back out and do a quick sweep of the top floor. After all, he was pretty sure Charlie didn't come downstairs and there were only so many rooms around. He couldn't have vanished into thin air.

Blake's eyes swooped through the empty library wall, absentmindedly noting what a shame it was not to have the shelves filled with books. That's when he heard it.

A grunt.

Blake froze, barely breathing.

There. A thud.

Where the hell was that coming from?

He opened his mouth to call out for Charlie once more, feeling the worry grow, but then he changed his mind.

Another thud... or a step?

There... he could swear the sounds were coming from inside the wall.

Blake stepped to the library shelves, his eyes roaming over them almost frantically, ears perked.

Gasping.

Someone was gasping for breath.

On the floor... there was a line on the floorboards. Not too perceptible, but still there. It looked like something was being pulled across the floor repeatedly, Blake noted as he squatted down, his fingers running over the gouge in the wood.

As if there was a door opening and something got stuck underneath it.

Blake's eyes narrowed.

A secret room.

His mind put together all the little pieces that weren't making sense.

_No protective wounds._

_No sign of forced entry._

' _Mrs. Downey was a loner - never let anyone inside the house.'_

Blake cursed.

It all made sense.

The killer was there the whole damn time.

And now he was most likely alone in that room with Charlie.

Blake felt his blood run cold.

He had to find a way inside, fast.

Based on the sounds, someone was struggling for breath and Blake desperately hoped it wasn't Charlie.

Frantically, he started looking through the shelves, touching each one of them, trying to push and pull, to find a lever.

It was really a matter of luck that his hands leaned against the right shelve quite soon. There was a click of a spring and the whole shelf had moved an inch.

It was enough. Blake curled his fingers into the gap and pulled the wall open. He was first hit with the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke, but he had no time to ponder it. His eyes settled on the scene in front of him.

Charlie on the floor, unmoving, eyes wide. He didn't blink; it looked as if he wasn't breathing. His skin was pale even in the yellow light of the lamp. Blood coated his neck and the blade pushed against skin, slicing...

The man holding the blade towered over Charlie's body and Blake could swear he heard him chuckle.

Time went still.

The picture in front of him, so gruesome, so horrifying.

' _Charlie was dead.'_

' _That man had just killed him.'_

' _If I'd come just a few minutes sooner-'_

Guilt and grief flooded Blake's insides with such force for a moment it was him who couldn't catch his breath.

Then time started moving again.

The grief mixed with anger and rage. Pure rage.

Someone hurt his friend. Someone _killed_ Charlie!

Someone let out an enraged shout and Blake realized it was him only when the monster in front of him turned in surprise. Only when he saw the chair in his own hands, swishing down at the man. The wood cracked on first hit but Blake didn't care. He held onto what was left of the chair and kept smashing, even when the man was down, blood pouring from his head and arms that tried to protect it.

Lucien Blake wasn't a violent man. He was a doctor, he was a police surgeon. Even in his days in the army and later on, he preferred the role of the spy to that of a soldier. But there were times when all the pain and anger of past failures and hurt came to the surface. Usually it was through a night of binge drinking, of drunken babblings and weeping. Sometimes though... it came to the surface in a burst. When someone he cared about got hurt. When his friend lie on the floor with his throat cut...

Blake had already thrown away the chair leg, choosing to use his fist instead. This... _punch..._ is... _punch..._ for... _punch-_

' _Doc?'_

Even through the rage and the thumping inside his head, he caught the sound and his head swivelled.

"Charlie!"

He was alive?

He didn't even know he crossed the room, just felt the thud as his knees hit the floor next to Charlie.

"Dear lord, I thought-" Blake shook his head, pushing that horrible feeling away. Charlie was awake, trying to speak although the sounds leaving his mouth were barely above whispers and grunts. No wonder, Blake thought, his eyes taking in his friend's state.

"Let... let me see," Blake spoke, his hands softly prying at Charlie's blood coated fingers. "Please, Charlie."

Charlie looked shaken, more pale than Blake ever saw him. He hoped it was just the lighting of the room. There was blood, but it wasn't spurting between the fingers. That gave Blake hope that the injury wasn't as grave as he first thought.

"Doc," Charlie mouthed and Blake saw the fear in his eyes, the plea for reassurance.

"It's alright, Charlie. Just... allow me-" Charlie finally gave up his hold and Blake got his first look at the wound. It was maybe five centimetres long, starting below Charlie's right ear, under his jaw line. It seemed shallow at first then there was a deeper gouge as the blade was pulled away violently. Based on the amount of blood and the location, Blake knew it might've hit the external jugular vein. Which was not good, but it could've been much, much worse.

"It's... it's okay. He... he missed the carotid. You'll be fine, Charlie. I promise... you'll be fine," Blake said, pressing one hand against the wound. If the jugular was nicked, the bleeding could be stopped with pressure. He was more concerned about the fact Charlie seemed to have trouble breathing. The blood oozing through his fingers made it hard to see any other possible damage. Blake looked around the dank room, hoping to see a shirt or any clean cloth he could use to stop the bleeding. All he saw though was a pair of sweaty socks lying on the floor and a cloth stained with what he hoped was food.

Deciding that anything from this place would just mean increased risk of infection, Blake pulled out his handkerchief. It might not have been much but at least it was clean.

He pressed it against the wound, grimacing at Charlie's reaction and obvious discomfort. There was no way around it though, not until he got some help.

"Sorry. We need to stop the bleeding. Can you-" Blake was hoping Charlie could perhaps hold the handkerchief so he could go and call an ambulance. He didn't finish though. Charlie's blurry gaze moved from his face to somewhere behind him, eyes widening and mouth opening in a silent warning.

Blake heard the cry before he felt something large and heavy slam into him. He was thrown to the floor, rolling just enough that he didn't end up squashing Charlie. His breath got knocked out of him and he could feel an elbow digging into his back, hot breath puffing against the back of his neck. Worst of all was the weight pinning him down.

His attacker lie on top of him, his arms flailing without precision, only trying to hit Blake wherever they could. Blake received several punches, but they were off. They hurt and he knew he would bruise, but it felt as if the man was too confused to deliver a proper attack.

That didn't mean he was less dangerous.

Blake was trying to flop over, to throw him off but the weight seemed immovable and the punches kept coming. The man was shouting obscenities, spitting around and hitting whatever he could. Until he saw the blade.

Blake felt the moment the man noticed the razor, felt the tensing of the body, heard the excited growl. He felt the movement as the man lunged for the thing and Blake knew that if he got to it, they were screwed. There was no saying how much damage could a deranged man cause with a blade in such close quarters.

Blake made a last ditch effort to throw the attacker off the moment he took some of his weight off. He felt the body on top of his wobble, but he could also see the hand was mere inches from the blade. Blake let out a shout of his own.

"Charlie!"

He wanted to tell the man he needed to run, to escape. He wanted to say he was sorry for messing up. Most of all, he just wanted them both to get out of this alive.

There was movement and a crash.

Suddenly, everything went black.

The weight on top of Blake increased and he let out a gasp as he fell back to the floor.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Nothing even breathed.

There was total silence.

Until he heard a breathy gasp and a thud, as if someone fell.

Blake wasn't sure what happened, but he knew he was alive. He had to be, with how much trouble it was to take in a breath.

"Charlie?" he let out through gritted teeth and grunted. The body on top of his was a dead weight and while he preferred it to the attacking mess, he still needed to get free.

"D-doc?" It was Charlie, his voice scratchy and barely perceptible, but there.

Blake felt like some of the weight was lifted, even if it was just the relief.

"Charlie... thank god," Blake said and with one more grunt, he pushed himself up on his elbows and turned, so that the body finally rolled off of him.

He took in a deep breath then looked around. It wasn't totally dark after all. The library wall he came through was still open and there was some daylight streaming in. Not enough to see Charlie's face, but enough to see the shadows.

"Are you alright Charlie?"

There was something that could've been a snort and Blake cringed realizing it was a stupid question. Charlie hadn't been fine before. Whatever happened now couldn't have helped the matter.

"Let's get you out," he said and gingerly got up to his feet. His hand brushed against some shards but he barely noticed.

"Did you really just hit him with the lamp?" Blake asked as he leaned down over Charlie. He received a grunt in reply and couldn't stop the chuckle.

"Good job, Charlie," he said and reached for Charlie's arm. He knew moving him wasn't the best thing but there was no way he could leave Charlie in the dark room, bleeding, with his attacker. Blake didn't know whether the man was dead or just knocked out. He hardly cared at the moment, although he really didn't want a repeat of the situation and have the man charging at them without warning.

"Alright, let me help you up," Blake said and was relieved when Charlie put in the effort to actually get up. He wasn't sure how bad off he was, but as long as he at least tried it was good.

Of course trying and achieving were two different things. As soon as Charlie got himself onto his knees his body wavered and Blake was sure he was close to fainting.

"Just... lean on me. That's it," Blake huffed as he pulled Charlie up, putting his arm over his shoulder and curling his hand around Charlie's left side.

Charlie made a sound of discomfort and Blake could feel he was shaking against his body, but despite that he started moving.

With some effort they stumbled out of the secret room. As soon as they were outside, Blake led Charlie to the side and helped him sit down and lean against the wall.

He cringed as he got his first proper look at Charlie. His face was deadly pale, or perhaps it just looked that way in contrast with the blood coating his throat and uniform. In the better light coming from the window Blake could also see the starting bruising and swelling on Charlie's throat, at least the parts that weren't coated in red.

"Damn, he did a number on you," Blake muttered. He felt the urge to return inside the room and finish off the attacker. The rage was still bubbling inside him, but now it was overcome by worry. He needed to take care of Charlie first and foremost.

"How's your breathing?" he asked, even though he could hear that Charlie had to put an effort into getting in each breath.

Charlie's grimace was enough of a response in any case.

"Let me just check," Blake said, his voice holding a tone of apology for the discomfort he was sure to cause. His hands reached out and gently palpated Charlie's neck, as much as it was possible with the cut. It took only a few seconds but by the time he finished Charlie's eyes were clenched shut and his left hand turned into a fist.

"There's some swelling... " Blake muttered, thinking of all the complications that might arise. Right now though it was important to make sure Charlie could breathe and that the help was on the way.

Blake undid the top buttons of Charlie's blazer and shirt then he took hold of Charlie's hand and manoeuvred it towards his neck.

"I'll need you to keep the pressure, right here. Can you do it Charlie?"

He pressed down and Charlie winced, giving him a pained and somehow confused look.

"Doc?" he whispered in question.

"We need to stop the bleeding, but I also need to make sure that man won't be a danger anymore. Do you have your handcuffs?"

Charlie nodded towards his pocket and Blake pulled the handcuffs out. He once again put his hand on Charlie's, adjusting its position.

"Here. Just keep the pressure, alright?"

Charlie grimaced, but did as he was told.

"Good man," Blake gave him a pat on the shoulder then got up to his feet.

"Careful," Charlie croaked, looking up blearily.

"Don't worry. Just keep your hand there and stay awake. I'll take care of the rest."

With that, Blake pulled the library wall wide open, letting in as much light as possible. He needed to get as good a look at the attacker as possible.

The man was lying in the same position they left him in.

Good, Blake thought. He didn't even care if he was dead or not. He had no qualms of leaving him as he was, even if the man was choking on his own tongue. Blake didn't want to offer any help.

But he had to make sure the man wasn't a threat anymore. So he knelt down next to him and carefully reached out to check his pulse.

He was almost disappointed when he felt it. With a scowl, Blake did a quick assessment of his state. It seemed that Charlie managed to smash the lamp on the back of the man's head. There was a gash and a lump just at the bottom of the skull, bleeding sluggishly, shards of the lamp clearly visible. The man was breathing but so far he didn't appear to be awakening. He was already lying on his side. Blake looked at his eyes but he was definitely knocked out.

With some effort, Blake rolled him into a position that would allow him to keep breathing without aspirating even if he got sick. Then he pulled his arms behind the back and clapped on the handcuffs. That would have to do for the moment.

Remembering the sight of the blade, Blake looked around until he found the weapon. He was definitely not leaving it there. He pocketed the thing then headed out of the room. Without much thought, he pushed the library wall closed, leaving the unconscious man in total darkness. For good measure, he pulled the desk across the room and pushed it against the door.

Charlie was giving him a strange look but he didn't ask questions. Most likely couldn't at this point.

Blake squatted down next to him, checking to see that he didn't get worse. He wasn't all that happy about hearing the slight wheezing sound that accompanied every intake of breath, but so far Charlie was breathing and he was still holding on to consciousness, albeit it was clear he was having a harder time.

"I saw a phone downstairs, Charlie. Can you hold on until I call help?"

Charlie blinked a few times.

"Dead?" he asked croakily, his eyes turning towards the library wall.

"No, he's alive. But he's out and I'm sure he won't bother us anymore."

Charlie gave a small nod.

"Alright. Keep the pressure. I'll be right back."

Blake waited until Charlie gave another small nod and he saw his hand, albeit trembling, push harder against his neck.

"Good. Hang in there Charlie. Just hang on," he muttered and then got up, heading as fast as he could to the phone. Perhaps using the radio in the car would have been better, but he didn't dare to leave the house, even for a minute. His own hand shaking slightly, Blake dialled the familiar number of Lawson's desk. He was never so glad to hear his friend pick up the phone on the second ring.

"Chief Superintendent Lawson speaking," came through the phone.

"Matthew, it's me, Lucien," he said then in the understatement of the year added: "I'm afraid we run into some trouble. You better send an ambulance."

* * *

For Charlie, watching Blake leave felt rather terrifying. He knew there was a killer only few meters from him, and although he was sure Blake wouldn't have left him unsecured, Charlie kicked himself for not telling the man about the other door. He could just imagine the man getting out of the secret room through the closet in the bedroom and bursting through the door in front of him. He would hardly be able to protect himself.

Even worse was the thought that it would be Blake who the man would go after this time and Charlie wouldn't even know it until it was too late. So he was leaning against the wall, his left hand wrapped around his neck occasionally slipping down. He always moved it back, even though it hurt. But Blake told him to keep pressure and Charlie would follow that order.

Despite the fact it didn't seem to help. His vision was blurring and he found himself losing focus. His head kept lolling down and it was only the pain from the cut and the discomfort of the bruised throat that made him jerk back to consciousness when that happened.

He hoped Blake would return soon. Where did the man even go? Was he even here?

Charlie shook himself from the daze, his hand slipping down to the floor. He almost fell too, leaning dangerously to the side before he caught himself on the elbow and pushed back to a semi reclining position.

His hands were bloody and for a moment he couldn't figure out where all the blood was coming from. His head was spinning and his stomach was churning, threatening to bring up his lunch. But he couldn't. His throat hurt and Charlie didn't even want to ponder the thought of throwing up right now. He had enough trouble pulling air in as it was.

Maybe he should try and go find help, Charlie thought idly. Surely, there was too much blood and Charlie wasn't sure who it belonged to. But Blake would know and he would help. Charlie just needed to find the man.

Charlie made it all up to his knees when the world turned upside down and he was falling back down.

He grunted as the floor hit him on the cheek, unyielding. He rolled over so he was now leaning his forehead against the hardwood floor, chest seizing as he was trying to get in enough air to satisfy his lungs. He wanted to push himself back up, but his arms were shaking and slippery and perhaps the floor was just the place to be.

"Bloody hell Charlie, didn't I tell you to stay put?"

Blake's voice filled his ears and Charlie let out a relieved grunt even as the man in question had his hands on his shoulders and helped him roll over to his back.

"What were you even trying to do?" Blake pestered him, while he pulled Charlie closer, so that his head was now resting on Blake's legs. Charlie blinked then hissed when Blake resumed the pressure on his neck.

"Looking... for you," Charlie said through gritted teeth. His voice was still horribly scratchy and barely audible.

"Hush, don't speak," Blake admonished him and Charlie scowled.

"You... asked," he couldn't help himself. True, his throat didn't thank him, but the look of astonishment on Blake's face was totally worth it in his opinion.

"Well... no need to keep doing that now," Blake recovered quickly. "I've called Matthew, help is on the way. Now just relax and... Try to stay awake."

Charlie grimaced. He was hoping he could go to sleep. Perhaps he could at least close his eyes to stop the world from spinning around and take a short nap. Surely, Blake couldn't mind that.

"Charlie! Eyes open!"

Well, Blake minded.

Charlie grunted.

"Dizzy," he complained and heard a sigh in reply.

"That's the blood loss," Blake explained softly. "I would still like you to stay awake as long as possible, alright?"

Charlie made a disgruntled sound, but tried to comply. He still closed his eyes, but made sure to blink them open a few times, or whenever he felt Blake's free hand squeeze his shoulder in question.

Why should he stay awake?

Help was on the way.

They were safe, weren't they?

Something nudged at the back of his mind.

Safe... but were they safe? He went to find Blake to warn him, didn't he? Only he forgot what about.

Charlie's face scrunched up in a grimace.

"What's wrong?" Blake asked worried. "Are you feeling sick Charlie?"

Charlie was, but that wasn't the reason. He opened his eyes, taking an almost panicked look around the room.

"Not safe," he muttered and tried to get out of Blake's hold. He needed to go somewhere, do something.

"Whoa, settle down. Charlie!" Blake pushed on his shoulder and Charlie had no way of escaping the hold. He fell back down into Blake's lap, the good doctor shooting him an exasperated glare.

"What do you think you're doing?" Blake asked, the hand on Charlie's neck pressing maybe just a tad harder just below the wound.

Charlie hissed then shot a pained look towards the door.

"Closet," he said raspily. Blake gave him a confused look.

"I don't understand."

"Other exit," Charlie managed, his right hand pointing towards the library wall, hoping Blake would understand, because he doubted he could manage much more. His vision was tunnelling out, his head thumping heavily and if he didn't close his eyes right now and focus only on trying to breathe, he knew he would sick up. So he did just that and this time Blake didn't tell him to open his eyes. He had his other hand wrapped around Charlie's wrist for a moment, then let it rest on his stomach.

"Is there another exit from that room?" Blake asked and after a moment, Charlie gave a tired nod, his mouth miming 'closet'. That was about all the energy he could spare.

He was expecting Blake to get up and go check it out, but the man didn't move.

Charlie opened his eyes in confusion, giving him a questioning look.

"Not leaving you again. I'm pretty sure that man won't be moving anytime soon... and even if so, we would hear him. Don't worry about it."

Charlie wanted to protest but found he couldn't. For one that would require him to speak, which was just too much effort. And secondly... he didn't want Blake to move either. He was feeling cold and the man's hands were the only source of warmth he had at the moment.

So he closed his eyes once more and decided to trust that Blake had things under control. There was nothing else to do anyway.

He must've dozed off for a bit because next time he opened his eyes it was to the sound of cars and people.

Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps and a familiar voice calling out.

"Blake? Davis! Everything clear?"

"Up here!" Blake called out, startling Charlie. Soon after, Lawson popped his head inside the room, gun in hand. He cast one look towards Charlie and Blake and cursed.

"Bloody hell, Charlie?"

"Boss," Charlie said rather weakly, but it seemed to assuage at least a bit of Lawson's worry. The concern on his face had turned into cold fury.

"Where's the bastard?" he asked, this time turning towards Blake.

"Behind that door," Blake nodded towards the library wall with the desk still blocking the way. "But Charlie said there was another entrance from the closet, next room."

Lawson's eyes narrowed and he turned on his heels.

"Ambulance crew will be up as soon as the situation is clear," he let them know before vanishing behind the door.

Charlie struggled to stay awake and attempted to get up, but Blake just pushed him back down.

"Stay put," he said.

Charlie grunted. He wanted to go and help Lawson. It was his job after all. Did the man even bring backup?

Before he could make up strength for another attempt of getting up, there was the sound of Lawson's voice barking orders. There was a thud and a groan and Charlie felt his heart skip a beat, but Blake was still holding him down and there was no way he would make it there in time if his Boss needed help and damn the Doc why didn't he do something?

Charlie felt himself panicking, but then he caught more voices. Hobart popped his head into the room, grimacing at the sight.

"Laying around all day, Davis?" he asked, even though his tone was rather hollow. Charlie looked at him wide eyed, before he could ask anything though, Blake tensed.

"Not the time for bloody jokes, Bill. What's going on? Where are the medics?"

"Relax, Doc. We got the guy, the medics are bringing up a stretcher. But uh... the Boss said he will have to be looked at. Someone did a number on him."

Blake almost looked proud of himself when he gave a shrug.

"Make sure he doesn't choke on something and keep him secure. That guy has more lives than a cat."

Both Charlie and Blake cringed at that, realizing how inappropriate a comment that was. Bill just snorted and nodded, then stepped aside as two men in white uniforms walked in, bearing a stretcher.

"I'll go keep an eye on our suspect. Wouldn't want the Boss to finish what you started now, would we?"

By the dangerous glint in Bill's eyes, Charlie wasn't really sure who posed more of a danger to his attacker. But he wasn't going to worry about that.

The men had put the stretcher down and were more than efficient in moving Charlie over to it. Unfortunately, their speed was a bit faster than Charlie could handle and he finally gave up his fight with consciousness. Not even Blake's worried voice could pull him out of the sweet, painless darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

His knuckles were bruised. Blake hadn't noticed, not until after he washed off Charlie's blood from his hands. Even then, he rushed back to the treatment room to help out or at least observe the physician on call. He didn't have time to look at his hands, until the cut on Charlie's neck was sewn up, he was hooked up to the IV to replace the blood he lost and settled in the bed.

Charlie had been in and out of consciousness, mostly out due to the blood loss. Even though he was awake as he was brought to the emergency room, his eyes were glazed and Blake thought he most likely won't remember the experience later on. That was just good. Even in unconsciousness, Charlie twitched or his breath hitched whenever someone touched his neck.

In moments when he was awake, Blake had to grab his hands several times from shooting up protectively even when a nurse was simply trying to wash away the blood. But now all was done and Charlie appeared to be resting. With all the blood gone and the cut bandaged, he looked almost normal. Except for his too pale skin and the slight swelling and bruising of his neck. Blake knew that the bruises might not even look too bad in the morning. If there was damage, it was hidden deeper under the surface. The occasional soft wheeze was more evidence of that.

Blake looked at the sleeping face, his jaw clenching at the knowledge how close they really got to losing Charlie. How for a moment he thought he was already too late.

In that moment, he would have killed the man holding the blade. Blake wasn't proud of that... he wasn't a vicious person. But if someone he cared about was threatened... or hurt... he saw red.

Just like now.

Blake frowned, looking at his hands. He clenched them into fists and felt the pain of bruised knuckles but it gave him a thrill of satisfaction. It meant he returned some of the pain Charlie received. The feeling of satisfaction though was short lived when he spotted the blood caught under his fingernails. Seemed like he made a shoddy job of cleaning up after all.

"What's the long face about?"

Blake raised his head to look at his old friend. He should have heard the familiar clapping of the cane, but it seemed he was too lost in thought.

"Will I have to look for a new sergeant?" Lawson asked, brows raised and voice tight. He gave Blake a questioning look then glanced towards the figure lying motionless in the bed. Blake saw his feature grow more tense and was quick to assuage any fears.

"Only if you grow tired of Charlie's penchant to get himself into trouble," he replied, allowing a small smile to slip on his face.

Lawson's face didn't change but Blake knew his friend long enough to notice the release of tension in the set of his shoulders.

"Good," Lawson nodded shortly. "It would've been a waste of time."

Blake snorted.

"And you dislike losing time very much, Matthew, isn't that right?"

Lawson grimaced, letting some of his frustration know. He looked around, possibly searching for a chair, but there was none. Charlie was settled in the open ward so he could be under observation. The nurse's station was only a few meters away and there were several more beds occupied with people in various states of unconsciousness. Blake knew that if it wasn't for Lawson's uniform, he would have most likely been kicked out already.

"Why don't we go outside for a moment? I think it's best if we don't disturb the patients," Blake said and nodded towards to door. Lawson shot Charlie one more look, as if expecting him to wake up right then and there. But Charlie was fast asleep, as pale as the bed sheets.

Lawson grimaced then without a word nodded and turned on his heels, heading out of the room. Blake followed. They turned into one of the calmer corridors.

"So... he will be alright?" Lawson asked when they came to a halt and let a nurse pass by.

"Barring any complications, yes."

"Anything I should be worried about?"

Blake shrugged.

"I don't think so. Did you find out that man's name?" Blake changed the topic. He didn't want to give Lawson any assurances until he had a chance to really speak with Charlie. Physically, he might be alright within a few days. From the psychological aspect it might've been different. Right now he knew Lawson wasn't asking about that however.

"Unfortunately... we didn't get a chance to talk to him yet," Lawson spoke curtly and Blake looked at him with a frown.

"What do you mean?" It had been a couple of hours since they arrived to the hospital.

Lawson's eyes slipped down and he nodded towards Blake's hands.

"Seems like someone did a good job on him. Haven't regained consciousness yet, or not enough to talk straight. The broken nose and jaw might also be a problem during interrogation."

Blake wanted to feel bad about that. He did not.

"You would have done the same, if you saw him cutting Charlie's throat," Blake said, still feeling sick at the memory.

Lawson gave a short shake of head.

"No," he said and Blake's eyes narrowed. "I would've done much worse."

They shared a look of understanding. They were on the same page. Blake didn't have to worry about Lawson letting this go any further.

"It was simple self defence," Lawson said and Blake nodded.

"Is he secured?" he asked and Lawson tensed.

"Yes. He is over there," Lawson nodded towards the end of the corridor. Blake just now noticed an officer stationed at the door. "He's handcuffed to the bed and there will be someone by his door until he is fit to be moved to the prison."

Blake's jaw tensed and his fists unconsciously clenched. Lawson shot him one look then shook his head.

"I know it's tempting, but I don't want to see you anywhere near that room, Lucien. Is that understood?" Lawson warned.

Blake didn't reply.

"Blake!" Lawson barked and Blake finally gave a nod.

"Of course. Whatever you say, Matthew."

Lawson snorted.

"I very much doubt that, but I'll do with you staying out of that room for now."

Blake let out a frustrated sigh then turned his back towards the guard, so he was now facing the entrance to the room with Charlie instead. The idea that the suspect was so close didn't bode well with him, but he was pretty sure the attack on Charlie wasn't planned and the man probably didn't even know who he was trying to kill. That didn't make matters better, but there was no reason Charlie would be in any danger.

"What about that secret room? Have you found anything that could help us identify him?"

"So far only the health records of Mrs. Downey... or Wheeler. Whatever was her name."

"I'm thinking, based on the age and some of the photos, that this might be her son."

Lawson nodded.

"Yes. The age difference would seem to indicate that. As well as the fact she let him live inside her house."

"Is it possible she didn't know he was there?" Blake asked, even though that idea sounded somehow worse.

Lawson shook his head.

"I don't think so. Upon further inspection of the house... it is clear they shared the place."

Blake raised a brow in question and Lawson shrugged.

"Found some definitely male articles in the washing machine... mixed with hers. There was also more food than a lonely woman would cook for herself, unless she wanted to eat the same thing for a week. And lastly... that secret room didn't have any bathroom. I'm pretty sure she would have noticed a man taking a leak in her bathroom at some point."

Blake grimaced. Those were things they could and should have noticed on the first search of the house. Or what he would have picked up if he had started with the kitchen instead of the living room while Charlie headed upstairs. All of this might've ended differently.

He must've let his guilt show on his face, because Lawson's usual glare softened as he reached out and patted him on the arm.

"Look, we will figure this out. What matters now is that the guy is in custody and Davis will recover."

Blake nodded somehow half-heartedly.

"But you aren't just waiting for him to wake up, right? You have some other leads? Because... if there was some brain damage, getting the guy talking might be a bit difficult."

Lawson grimaced but shook his head.

"We are already calling around to the other stations with the description. I'm pretty sure sooner or later we will get a match. No one would be hiding in some shitty secret room for years without reason."

Blake had to agree with that. Even though what he remembered of the room it was quite likely that the occupant spent plenty of time outside of it. He couldn't really imagine being stuck in a room without windows for a prolonged time period. Or well... he had been in worse places and he knew what effect that had on people. It wouldn't be a surprise if the man's nerves snapped because of that. Though that was absolutely no excuse for the sickening things he did.

"Dr. Blake?" a nurse stepped out of the room and approached them.

Blake turned to her, a jolt of worry rushing through his gut.

"Yes Samantha? Is something wrong?"

She gave him a calming smile and shook her head.

"Not at all. Sergeant Davis has woken up and was asking about you. I thought I better find you."

Blake gave her a relieved smile and a nod of thanks.

"Indeed. I'll be right there. Thank you."

"I'd better go back. He is probably pretty confused."

Lawson nodded, but looked uncharacteristically hesitant.

"Mind if I join you?"

"As long as you don't stress out the patient," Blake said with a smile on his face and gestured for Lawson to join him.

"I wouldn't dare," Lawson replied seriously, pointedly ignoring Blake's answering snort.

* * *

He knew where he was. He even had some fuzzy memories of how he got there and one or two moments when he came to while he was being moved to a bed. Somehow, he was aware of each time someone as much as breathed close to his neck, even though he could hardly do anything about it. Only utter a sound of protest or try and swat away the intruder.

This was the first time when he woke without the feeling of someone touching him. His head was still fuzzy and there was a distant buzzing he just couldn't pinpoint. But when he forced his eyes to open, the hospital setting drove in the reality of his situation.

He was stuck in the bed, for all to see. Charlie wasn't happy about that. Despite it being mostly just a nurse passing by, checking on patients in other beds, Charlie felt vulnerable. There was no door he could hear opening and warning him about a visitor. If he closed his eyes, there was no telling who he would see when he opened them.

Logically, he knew it wouldn't be his attacker. But logic and a fuzzy mind didn't go well together. The memory of the attacker's arm sneaking around his neck and pressing down or the glint of evil in his eyes when the blade touched Charlie's throat...

It made his throat clench in remembered pain and his breath hitch and wheeze. Charlie's arms shot up to reach for his neck on instinct, eyes widening.

A nurse finally noticed he was awake as he struggled to sit up, to get in some air. She rushed over to him.

"It's alright, Sergeant Davis. You're alright. Just try to relax. You're in a hospital," she spoke soothingly, while at the same time she gently tugged at Charlie's hands to pull them away from the bandage covering the cut on his neck.

He didn't fight her, only because she made it clear she wasn't about to touch his neck either. Instead, she helped him sit up just a bit, fluffing the pillow, then quickly checked he didn't dislodge the IV. Satisfied, she looked at him with a smile.

"Better?" she asked and Charlie blinked.

Being more upright might've felt better for his breathing, but his head was woozy from the change of position. He shut his eyes tight for a moment, trying to focus on his breathing. That wasn't really helping as closing his eyes instantly brought back the picture of the blade heading his way.

With a grunt his eyes snapped open, face turning into a grimace.

"Where-" he started but paused at the scratchy and barely audible sound. It was as if he had spent the whole night screaming at some concert or partying in a smoked up pub. God, his throat felt sore inside out, but more than the soreness it was the feeling of tightness that worried him.

He could deal with pain but the inability to breathe scared him to death.

"Do you want to try drink some water?" the nurse asked and Charlie nodded. Anything to make the scratchiness go away. He was also kind of thirsty. He was a bit dismayed when the nurse handed him a half full glass and it felt as if he was holding a full jug. He felt shaky too, but he knew that was most likely just his body's reaction to the stress of almost being killed.

He took a few sips of the water, slow and careful. He wasn't sure how his throat or stomach would fare, but the cool liquid brought at least some relief.

"Enough?" the nurse asked as he lowered the glass after few sips. Charlie nodded. He would've chugged it all down, but his head was still a bit woozy and he didn't want to provoke his stomach.

"Yeah... thanks," he said, then grimaced. The water didn't really help all that much with the quality of his voice.

"Do you need anything else?"

Charlie wanted to shake his head, but paused. He looked around the place, eyes searching for a familiar figure. There was no one. He wondered what was the time, but it was still light outside.

"Is... where..." Charlie cleared his throat. "Blake?" he finally croaked out. He knew he probably looked pathetic, asking for someone after barely a few hours of being brought in, but he was feeling anxious and overall off. He just wanted a familiar face, someone who could tell him what was going on. With the case... with him. Hell, he would've liked to know when he was free to leave this place.

"Oh, Dr. Blake is somewhere here. I believe he just stepped outside for a moment. I can look in the corridor if he's around?"

Charlie let out a sigh of relief. He wanted to shake his head and say that's alright, he could wait a moment. Blake deserved a break, it was enough to know the man had been around, even though Charlie had been asleep all this time.

But as he moved his head, he felt the stitches in his neck pull uncomfortably. The bandage suddenly seemed to be too tight and Charlie's breath caught.

"Sergeant? Are you alright?" the nurse was there, one hand on his wrist, eyes scrunched up in a scrutinizing look.

Charlie swallowed spasmodically a few times then nodded.

"Y-yeah. Can you... find him?" he asked, adding a barely audible 'please'. The nurse gave him a reassuring smile then let go of his wrist with a pat.

"Of course. Why don't you try to rest in the meantime?"

That was easier said than done. Each time he closed his eyes he either saw the glint of the blade or felt the suffocating pressure.

Until he saw Blake walking towards him, closely followed by Lawson.

Some of the weight had instantly lifted off his chest.

"Hey," he muttered, attempting to sit up a bit straighter, not that happy about having to greet his boss lying down. His vision blurred for a second and he paused mid motion. By the time the world settled, Blake was already by his side, pushing him back down. Charlie succumbed with a grunt. He was expecting some reprimand, but Blake seemed satisfied with the simple fact he didn't fight back.

"Good to see you awake, Charlie," he said with a smile as he settled on the edge of Charlie's bed, while Lawson headed over to the empty chair.

"I thought I sent you to keep an eye on Blake... not the other way around," Lawson noted drily.

Charlie froze at the obvious admonition. Was Lawson pissed at him? For almost getting killed?

The confusion must've been clear on his face, or it might've been Blake's glare aimed at Lawson, because the man rolled his eyes.

"I only meant that I would've been fine without having to listen to Blake's reading poetry at the dinner table for a few nights. Would have been preferable to having you out of commission and looking pitiful enough to become centre of attention to the ladies. At least Rose is out of town this week," Lawson said with a knowing glance.

"Well, thank you for that, Matthew. I'll take note of your 'love' for poetry. Maybe I shall bring out a book for breakfast as well," Blake retorted with a smirk.

"Lord, spare me," Lawson groaned and Charlie couldn't help the snort of amusement. He cringed afterwards, but the few seconds of levity seemed to calm him down a bit.

"How are you feeling?" Blake turned his attention back to him and Charlie forced himself not to twitch as the man reached out to gently lift his chin and check on the bandage. He swallowed and wished he had the glass of water to take a sip from or at least fiddle with.

"Okay," he mumbled.

Blake only raised his brows in doubt, but didn't question him about that.

"Can you breathe alright?"

Charlie gave a hesitant nod.

"If you start feeling strange, I want you to tell someone. Do you understand?"

Charlie just gave him a confused look. As if he could hide anything in an open ward? Well, he might try, but that was beside the point. He was pretty sure the nurses around weren't fooled by anything.

"Charlie," Blake said, still expecting an answer.

Charlie frowned.

Just how long was he expected to stay there anyway?

"When can I go... home?" he asked but that just seemed to irritate his throat and he coughed. It wasn't pleasant but it also wasn't horrible and definitely no reason for both men to shoot him worried glances. Charlie wanted to roll his eyes but knew no one would appreciate it. So he reached out for the almost empty glass of water on the bedside table, only to have his hand pushed back down. He wanted to protest, but Blake was already pouring fresh water and handing him the glass. Charlie supposed he could appreciate the gesture.

He took a few slow sips then rested the glass at his side, unwilling to part with it yet.

"Home?" he repeated the question, this time making sure he spoke clear enough to be heard.

"What, you don't like this fine establishment?" Lawson jibed from the seat, giving an uncharacteristic smile to a nurse passing by. She blinked, seemed almost as confused as Charlie.

Still, he didn't let that deter him from his point. He tried to ignore his boss for the moment and focused on Blake.

"Doc?"

Blake sighed.

"Soon, don't worry."

Charlie scowled.

"You'll stay here for observation until morning then we will see."

Charlie wasn't happy about it. It wasn't just the fact he was on display. The constant presence of the nurses and other patients was making him antsy. He knew it would be hard to fall asleep, but he was more worried about the nightmares and waking everyone else up.

"Room?" he tried, hoping that perhaps Blake could have some sway at the hospital. Blake shook his head.

"Sorry, Charlie. It's better if you stay here, under watch. In case you start having trouble breathing."

Charlie felt like pouting, until Lawson spoke up.

"Yes, Davis. I'm pretty sure privacy is the last thing you want when you start choking."

Charlie's eyes widened. Blake turned his head and snapped at Lawson.

"Matthew!"

"What? I'm just trying to be helpful. Or do you want to spend the day arguing with the fool?"

Charlie cringed and Blake rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

That's when Charlie caught sight of the bruised knuckles and he remembered another scene. Back in the house. Blake charging inside, murder in his eyes. Charlie should have been startled by that, seeing the raw anger pouring out of the man as he beat his attacker to a pulp.

The only thing he felt was gratefulness though.

Blake saved his life. Blake fought for _him_ with a verve Charlie didn't expect from anyone. Maybe it was pathetic, but... he decided that perhaps consenting to the short time loss of privacy was the least he could do to repay the man.

He didn't have to be happy about it... but he could let it slide for the moment. There were other things on his mind after all.

"Who..." Charlie paused, cleared his throat and repeated a bit louder. "Who was it?"

He noted that Blake and Lawson shared a look and that just made him more interested in hearing the answer.

"Boss?" he turned towards Lawson imploringly.

"We're still trying to figure that out actually."

Charlie blinked. Didn't they interview the man? What was Lawson doing here instead of questioning the bastard that tried to kill him and Blake?

"Oh, don't give me that look, Davis," Lawson uttered in annoyance as Charlie had clearly managed to convey his feelings. "The perp is still unconscious, that's all. We're just waiting for him to wake up."

Charlie started to nod then he froze.

Unconscious?

His eyes slid back to Blake's raw knuckles, remembering the rage. He couldn't help the flicker of malice at the thought the attacker had gotten his due. He deserved a bit of pain after what he threatened to do to Charlie... after what he most likely did to that poor woman. But then another thought entered his mind.

"Where is he?" Charlie asked, hoping his voice didn't suddenly sound shakier than before.

Lawson let out a sigh.

"That's none of your concern, Davis. He's locked down."

Charlie shook his head, glaring. He felt a surge of anger and trepidation, all of it coalescing into an urge to get up and leave.

"He's here?" he asked, this time turning to Blake, even as he was making an effort to sit up and perhaps get out of the bed. To what purpose he didn't know. The moment he made a faster movement, his vision blurred and before he knew it Blake's hand was pushing him back on the pillow.

"Where do you think you're going?" Blake asked, a look of dismay on his face.

"Home," Charlie grumbled, even though it was only half-hearted at best. His head hurt and all the excitement of the day made him suddenly rather tired. Or perhaps it was the thought that he might be in the same building as his attacker. Hurt and unable to even get out of the bed without swooning like a fair maiden... too vulnerable to protect himself.

"Stop being a stubborn idiot and stay in bed," Lawson told him gruffly and Charlie could only shoot him a look of dismay. Really, was he the fool for wanting to be miles away from the crazy killer? And when did Lawson get up from the chair anyway?

Charlie blinked a few times, unable to suppress a sudden yawn.

Lawson rolled his eyes and Blake let out a chuckle.

"I think it best that you try and get some sleep, Charlie," Blake commented.

Charlie shook his head and scowled at both men.

"Not safe here," he mumbled, his eyes suddenly weighing a ton.

"The man is handcuffed to the bed and has a guard at his door. I'm sure you're as safe as you can be, Davis," Lawson noted.

Charlie wanted to say how unfair that was actually, that the killer had more privacy than him, but that would have required too many words. So he just grunted, letting his eyes slip closed for a few more seconds.

"Rest Charlie," Blake said, giving a soft pat to his leg. "I'll be around for a bit longer. You don't have to worry about a thing."

Charlie thought perhaps he could listen to Blake this once. After all, he was in a hospital, surrounded by nurses and people who knew what they were doing. Blake was there too. What could go wrong?

Charlie let his own guard down and let himself be taken by Morpheus.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This the chapter for which all the warnings apply, so proceed carefully.

The handcuffs were chaffing his skin. He wanted to rattle them, to break the whole damn bed apart, but he noticed the copper outside his door. When the nurse came to check on him, he managed to stay still and pretend he was still unconscious. It wasn't that hard really. His left eye was swollen shut, nose was so stuffed he couldn't even breathe through it. His jaw was also broken. He knew... he had felt the same pain before. So many times already.

Damn, but whoever was the bastard that came at him packed a punch. Ray wanted to clench his teeth but he couldn't. Instead he clenched his fists, so hard he felt the steel of the cuffs cut into his skin. That felt almost good.

He waited for the nurse to do whatever she came to, forcing down his urge to lunge up and smash her to the ground when she rubbed a knuckle against his collarbone. He couldn't stop the twitch.

She made a sound but she didn't speak. He could feel her eyes on him, so he stayed still.

She let out a shaky breath and next thing he heard was quick clapping of her shoes on the floor. Secure in the knowledge she was heading out, he opened his one good eye and caught sight of the cop before the door slipped closed.

Ray felt his hackles rise almost on principle. A bloody copper at his door. He was locked up in a tiny hospital room. After all those years of being stuck in the house with his mother... now this.

He knew he should've left the house right after his mother's body was taken away. But he had spent so much time there that truly... leaving seemed hard. Almost scary.

It was a prison but at the same time it was his home. And with his mother gone, God, Ray hoped he could perhaps have the house all to himself for a little while. It was bought with his damn bloody money after all. The money he stole during a bank robbery more than five years ago... the money his blasted mother had discovered a few days later under his bed, while he was out buying himself a ticket to America.

It hadn't been his fault the guy at the bank was putting up a fight. It wasn't his fault he was better with a blade than the man with his fists. He didn't mind the blood. What he did mind was the cops being on his ass, prowling through his neighbourhood after the fact. He had to leave and forget his family ever existed. The drunken bastard of a father, or his mother that never dared to leave him.

Ray had enough. So he bought the ticket, stopped for a pint of beer to celebrate the fact and headed home, ready to pack and bide this whole continent good bye. All he needed was to get on the bus to Sydney within the next two days.

His mother messed that up.

He always thought of her as a coward... until that day. When he came home, elated and a bit drunk, he found her in his room. The blood speckled bag lying on the bed. Empty.

"Where's the money?" he asked, the effects of alcohol evaporating in an instant.

His mother sat there, her eyes full of disappointment. And something else. Something he never saw before.

Determination.

"It was you," she said quietly. So quietly... knowing well that her husband was in the next room, asleep from too much beer but still a threat if woken.

Ray hated her for that.

"Where's the money?" he repeated the question, fists clenching. At twenty-five years old and well over six foot tall, bulky and muscled, he should've posed a threat.

But his mother wasn't afraid.

Not of him. Never of him.

The only person that put the fear of God in her was in the next room.

"I put them somewhere no one will find them," she said.

"Mom-" he growled, taking a step towards her. She didn't even flinch. Only looked up at him, eyes empty from all the years of disappointment and fear.

"You killed a man, Raymond," she stated and it was him who flinched.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

She looked at the blood spattering the empty bag, then back at him.

"You killed an innocent man..." she paused. Ray tensed. "Yet you never even thought of protecting me."

He flinched.

"What?"

The woman didn't speak. Her jaw was clenched tight, all the years making her features harsh and taunt. No smile wrinkles, only a frown marring her face.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, full of disbelief. He still felt the same disbelief now as he thought about her reply.

"Freedom."

It sounded so simple.

He thought it would be easy. He thought... killing the man that made their lives hell would be the end of it. But his mother still didn't give up the money. And now Ray had one more life on his conscience. She wanted more. Of course she did and what was worse, there was no way he could force her to give the money up. How could he threaten a woman that had been threatened most of her life? She endured his father's rages... only thing he could take was her life.

He couldn't do that.

So he put up with the fact he might need to humour her for a while, until he found out where the money was. After all, she had to use it somehow. They had bills to pay.

But the bank robbery didn't go unnoticed, nor did his father's death, when his body surfaced in the river. Suddenly Ray found himself on the run with his mother. His face plastered on wanted posters, his name known all around the town. He had to hide, had to lay low.

"Just for a while," his mother told him as she whisked him into their new house under the guise of the night, unseen by anyone. "Just until they stop looking for us. We will stay here and wait. Safe."

Ray didn't like the way her eyes glinted at that but there was nothing he could do. One phone call was all it would take. And he would be facing the death row.

Once upon a time he would've been sure his mother wouldn't be capable of making such a call.

Then he saw her spitting on her husband's corpse as she helped put him in a tarp, waiting for Ray to get rid of him.

That woman had no love left, nothing to lose.

Ray let out a ragged sigh. His ribs hurt. His head was screaming with pain.

Five years.

He let that woman hold him captive for five long years. He almost got used to it. The routine. The calm. No raging drunk waving his fists around constantly. Only his too quiet mother, putting food on the table. Ignoring his pleading, his threats, and his rants.

She never gave up the money... the money that kept coming twice a month. Only enough for the food and stuff... never enough for anything else.

His mother... and the cats.

Those stupid furry little monsters.

It started with just the one. A lost stray, begging in their garden.

His mother took it in... her eyes alive perhaps for the first time in decades.

Ray hated that a stupid animal could do that, when he couldn't. He grumbled and ground his teeth, but the critter stayed. He knew with one look that if his mother had to choose... she would pick the cat. She would pick it over anything else.

For a time he could ignore it. For a time, he silently watched his mother showing love to a creature when she couldn't even smile at her son. He threw murderous glares at the cat and the cat swiped its claws at him whenever they crossed ways. That happened scarcely however. Both of them knew the sentiments of the other.

Ray almost learned to live with that. Until his mother started feeding all the other cats too.

When the girl came looking for hers, Ray was just downstairs in the kitchen, grabbing a cup of coffee. He caught movement by the window, spotted the girl lurking, trying to see inside.

She didn't see him, but it was too close. It felt as if his heart stopped for a moment, when he stared into the face of the child. Until he realised the sun shining at the window was spoiling her view and she turned away.

Suddenly, the cats posed a threat.

He had to get rid of them.

So he did.

It felt like... freedom.

Five years he had been smothering his inner rage, all the anger and pain over the injustice of life. Five years of itching to go outside and do horrible things.

And suddenly he could.

It wasn't like beating up a man in a pub brawl but it rekindled something twisted deep inside him. Something he must've gotten from his father surely.

Nights become occasions when he would go out into the neighbourhood, taking a walk through the back gardens. During nights, he became the hunter.

Until one day his mother's cat forgot to be careful around him.

Ray still felt his lips twitch at the memory. No more meowing or claws.

He left the door open and pretended the cat ran out during one of his mother's walks.

But she knew.

And when the neighbour came, crying about his stupid mutt... about the slit throat... she had enough.

Ray saw that look in her eyes... the same one she worn when she asked him to take care of his father.

Ray had no choice really. The only thing he regretted was the fact he didn't do it earlier. And that he never learned where the bloody money was.

That was the only reason he had stayed in the house. He was hoping to find something, anything that would lead him to the money. Instead, he had to hide inside the blasted room the original builder of the house created as some kind of a dark room for photographs but which for the last five years served as his hiding spot whenever someone knocked on the door. Or when he needed a calming drag of the cigarette. His mother hated that.

When he heard the damn cop snooping by the door while someone else was downstairs going through his mother's belongings, he finally lost his patience.

What happened afterwards was one big haze. He had some recollection of the attack, still remembered that sweet thrill as he pressed his father's blade against the copper's throat, drawing red. But afterwards all he could remember was pain and darkness, a face filled with anger leaning over him before the fist connected.

For a moment, Ray thought it was his father but the man was always clean shaven. Took great pride in that if nothing else, hence the first and only good thing he taught his son was how to use the razor.

Ray let out a low growl, refusing to think about his father or the situation that put him in the hospital bed.

Right now there were more important things.

For one... he needed to escape, before the cops found out who he was. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be there if they'd known... not guarded by one measly cop at least. That gave him hope for getting out.

There was no way in hell he would stick around and wait for them to find everything out. He wasn't sure what kind of laws applied in Victoria, but the country he came from still had death penalty.

He really had nothing to lose at this point.

Ray looked around the room. There was a small window but all he could see from his position was the darkened sky and some stars. Maybe he could get out that way. As long as he wasn't too high up and the cop didn't decide to look in on him. There was no clock or anything to judge the time from, but the nurse had just left so there was a good chance he would be left alone for some time.

The only light in the room was coming from a lamp on his bedside table. He was disappointed when he saw the table was otherwise empty. He had to get out of these damn handcuffs.

If it had been just one hand, things would have been easier. As it was, both his hands were trapped to the bed frame and he could feel there were some padded restraints on his ankles as well.

'Fucking pigs!' he thought angrily, but he was already devising a plan. It wasn't a small feat either. His brain was pretty much scrambled eggs at this point but there was the survival instinct that kept him alive during his whole damn childhood. He knew getting free would involve pain... but he also knew he might give as good as he get.

After several minutes of just listening and trying to clear his head enough to remember the few steps he needed to take in order for his plan to succeed, he took a deep breath, hooked the thumb on his left hand around the rail and in one quick and excruciating motion pulled.

There was the familiar pop, accompanied by a very low pitched moan, the only sound he allowed himself to make as his thumb popped out of its socket.

It took him a few seconds to get a handle over his breathing, but that was alright. He had plenty of experience. Ever since his hand got broken in an 'accident' when he was six years old, something had healed wrong and his thumb and index finger were more prone to pop out when pulled. Most of the time it was a pain in the ass, especially when it was raining or he needed a precise hold on something. Sometimes though it came in handy.

Ray didn't give himself much time. He knew the faster he put the finger back the lesser chance he would mess it up. He couldn't allow any mistakes right now.

With a barely contained hiss, he worked his disfigured looking hand out of the handcuff. Shakily, he reached towards his other hand and in a practiced motion popped the thumb back.

It wasn't his favourite past time, but the thumb returning to its rightful place brought almost instant relief. He was also sure there was still some painkiller in his bloodstream, courtesy of the hospital.

That was just fine.

He entertained the thought of repeating the process with his right hand, but that one had previously escaped any abuse and as such would most likely not work as easily. That didn't matter. He already had a different plan. He just had to hide his freed hand and the empty handcuff under the blanket. Satisfied, he cleared his throat. Then he started moaning.

His voice grew louder and louder, until he was sure he must've been heard even through the closed door.

It didn't take long really. He started muttering, as much as his broken jaw allowed. Trashing around, as if caught in a nightmare. Rattling his still handcuffed arm against the railing.

The door opened and in stepped the cop.

Ray had previously noticed it was a middle aged guy. This wasn't a greenhorn, but a quick peak from under hooded eyes let him know he was still dealing with a junior sergeant. The guy had nothing on the threatening figure of his father.

Ray kept up the trashing, the one working eye open only to a slit now, watching the careful and conspicuous approach of the cop. The man clearly hesitated halfway, ready to turn around and simply call for a nurse or a doctor.

Ray let out a moan, muttered a word.

The cop paused and took a step closer, curious.

Ray kept muttering nonsense under his breath. Loud enough to be heard, not enough to be understood. The cop walked closer, leaning down, trying to figure out what he was saying.

Ray's eye opened wide, his left hand shooting out and grabbing the cops head, pulling it down towards him. The cop let out a surprised yelp and he tried to pull back, but he was off balance and Ray didn't mess around. He pulled the cop's head down and smashed his own up. His forehead connected with a nose and he felt a spatter of warm blood cover his face, but the cop went suddenly limp.

Ray grunted as he felt the weight settle on his chest but that was all the sound he made. The stupid cop left the door open so he couldn't lose time.

He pulled the limp body closer and started patting down the pockets. It was cumbersome and it took a moment but he located the keys. Feeling a burst of elation, Ray pushed the unconscious body off of him, mildly satisfied when he heard the thump of a skull hitting hard floor. Good. Fewer things to worry about.

He made short work of the handcuffs and rolled off the bed, for a moment ignoring the unconscious cop. He was presented with one problem.

Clothes.

He had his underwear and some flimsy gown, nothing else. While it wasn't exactly cold outside, he was pretty sure that running around half naked would draw attention. With a grimace, Ray looked down.

It wasn't ideal, but it might just work.

First though, Ray pushed the door closed. He didn't want any witnesses.

With a grunt of disgust, Ray turned back towards the barely stirring cop.

Few minutes later, he was fumbling with the shirt. If it wasn't for the broken jaw he would've smirked. He would never have thought that he would one day be wearing a copper's uniform. What a day!

It didn't fit exactly, the arms and legs were a bit shorter and he couldn't really do the top three buttons because he would be risking asphyxiation. But in the middle of the night, from far away in a darkened street he might well pass for a cop. If only those bloody shoes were a bit larger and weren't trying to kill his feet.

Now he only needed to get out there and enjoy his freedom, however poor it would be.

The half naked cop was lying on the bed on his stomach, hands handcuffed behind his back, a blanket thrown over his body. Ray contemplated just breaking the pig's neck, but then thought that would just make the coppers all the more bloodthirsty. And perhaps this way he could pose some distraction if needed.

Casting one last glance around the room, Ray reached for the lamp and turned it off, leaving the room in darkness. That was better.

He patted on his side, feeling the reassuring shape of the cop's baton. Ray was already missing his precious razor, but what could one do. The baton would have to do for the moment.

He peeked into the corridor. It looked empty, though he could hear soft footsteps heading his way.

Ray squinted with his one good eye, trying to make out where the figure was heading. The clapping of feet was retreating however and he dared open the door and slip out.

Right now he was a cop. Perhaps he should start acting like one.

He thought it might actually work as he headed down the corridor and passed several half closed doors. He noticed a patient looking his way, but the man didn't do anything, just gazed ahead. Ray ignored him, trying to figure out the quickest way out of the hospital. Where the hell was he even? Based on the look from outside the window, he was at least one floor above the ground level, if not two. That meant he needed to find the stairs.

A nurse had stepped out from a room.

Ray's steps faltered for a moment, but then he pulled himself together and kept going as if he had some specific destination.

The nurse however paused.

"Officer?" she asked and her voice held a note of surprise. She was holding a tray with some medication, clearly just having stepped out from a patient.

Ray stopped.

He could have passed by her and continued, ignoring her altogether. But he saw the look on her face. Surprise was quickly giving way to confusion and suspicion. After all, his face was far from unmarred and the uniform didn't fit. It might've very well been the same nurse that had been tending to him just a short while ago.

He took a step closer to her, making sure he could react in time if she decided to flee.

His predictions were right.

The nurse's eyes widened and the tray clattered to the floor. It was loud and she jerked at the sound, at the same time taking a step back towards the room she came out of.

Ray was expecting that however.

He might have been beaten, his depth perception might've been off from only having one good eye. But his instincts were as sharp as ever, reflexes quick. He knew what he could lose.

He grabbed the nurse's arm and jerked her towards him. She slammed sideways into his chest, but he barely noticed. She was of slight built. His left arm curled across her stomach, pulling her close. So close he might've felt the smell of her shampoo if his nose hadn't been messed up as well. His right hand went for the baton and in a moment he had her pinned against him, the baton pressed against her neck.

He loved when they couldn't scream.

Not that she didn't try.

She made a sound, but stopped as soon as she felt the pressure on her throat. Ray felt a jolt of wistfulness. He was missing his razor.

But this wasn't the time or place for sentimentality. He had to get out.

The nurse might have gone silent, but her hands were still flailing around, trying to pull his arms away, nails clawing into his flesh wherever they could.

Ray ignored it. The nurse's nails were trimmed for the job, they barely hurt.

"Stop it," he hissed, though it came out garbled. He was having trouble articulating properly with his jaw and that was just one more thing to get pissed about. He shook the woman harshly for a second and she stilled. He could feel her trembling slightly but she seemed to realize fighting back right now was foolish.

Good.

He needed some help.

"Exit?" he asked, making sure she understood.

"T-two floors down," the nurse stuttered.

Ray cursed silently. That was too far away not to get noticed.

If he had a weapon, he could've tried to get out with the nurse leading the way, perhaps even unnoticed. But besides his own hands and the baton he had nothing to threaten her with. She could try to escape and call for help. And he would be without a hostage.

No... It was perhaps better to risk being noticed. Sometimes fear worked better at clearing the way, he learned that the hard way.

"Go!" he hissed into her hair and slowly walked with her down the corridor towards where she indicated. It wasn't ideal and it didn't take long before someone else came.

This time it was a male orderly. He stepped out of what looked to be an open ward. It held several beds, most of them occupied by sleeping patients. It was the middle of the night after all.

The man already had a frown on his face.

"What's all that ruckus?" he asked, trying to keep his voice down, at the same time looking put out. His face turned into a frown as he noticed the nurse, but it took a bit longer for his brain to put the picture together.

"What in bloody hell are you doing?" the man asked, this time loud.

"Richard? What's going on?" Another nurse stepped out from behind him, her eyes going wide, hand shooting up to her mouth.

Ray wanted to beat all of them, make them shut up.

He growled and the baton pressed harder against the nurse's throat.

She let out a squeak.

"No, please!" she cried out. The orderly took an angry step towards Ray, while at the same time pushing the other nurse back inside the room, to safety.

Ray didn't have time for this.

"Let me pass or she croaks!" he threatened. He could already hear more voices from inside the room, more movement and that was making him nervous.

"Come on mate, let her go," the orderly tried, raising his hands in supplication.

Ray took it as a signal that he wasn't willing to fight and ushered the nurse few steps further down the corridor.

"Get... lost!" Ray snapped, glaring at the orderly and putting just a bit more pressure on his hold. The nurse made another sound of distress and the orderly pushed his back against the wall. He didn't retreat to the room, but he wasn't following him either. Ray could live with that.

"Move," he hissed and turned sideways, so he could still keep half an eye on the man.

He probably should have paid more attention to other things though.

He had just passed another door and turned slightly, secure in the fact the orderly was too far away to pose an imminent threat. They were reaching the end of the corridor and he was getting worried about what lurked behind the corner, when the door he just passed swung open. He turned in time to see a pale figure rushing at him from the side.

He didn't have time to react. The nurse let out a startled yelp and tried to pull away while he tried to use her as a body shield.

The figure didn't seem to notice.

It just barrelled straight at them.

Within a moment, someone's fist slammed into his side and both he and the nurse were sent to the floor.

Ray could only cry out in anger as he realized it was the second time that day someone had thwarted his plans.


	5. Chapter 5

Charlie wished he could say he woke up to the sound of shouting and overall chaos, but that would be a lie. He had been awake for quite some time before that. It was hard to sleep with hearing other people around after all.

While he managed to doze off few times during the day, it was mostly because Blake was there. Charlie wasn't afraid per say, but some part of his subconsciousness had reacted to the knowledge that his attacker and a possible killer was resting in a bed perhaps just few rooms farther.

Blake's presence allowed that subconscious part to rest, but when the Doc had finally left - to Charlie's own urging - that little piece of worry gnawed its way to the surface.

When Charlie did manage to fall into deeper slumber, the nightmares quickly brought him out of it. After the second time when he sat up, reaching for his neck and gasping for breath, Charlie thought that perhaps staying awake for the night might've been the smarter solution. He was pretty sure the only reason he wasn't waking to a sound of his own screaming was the fact his throat was too sore to make a louder sound.

He still gasped and flailed around, ultimately catching the attention of the nurse on the night shift. It was nurse Doris, one whose company he already had the pleasure of enjoying in the past, when a different case landed him in the hospital. She was a no-nonsense woman, and he could respect that. Of course she was also rather perceptive and not as easy to deflect.

Charlie felt quite embarrassed when she offered to call the doctor and see if she should administer a sedative. Charlie shook his head, pleaded with her to let it go, that he would try to get some rest again.

So he closed his eyes, waited until nurse Doris left to her corner and settled down. Then he let out a sigh, turned onto his side, grimacing as he felt some of his sore muscles protesting. At least he had gotten rid of the IV earlier in the evening. He imagined tossing and turning with that would have been fun.

Charlie stared further down the room. From his vantage point he could see two other beds, both occupied by patients who seemed worse off than him. One guy was out cold, the other further down kept mumbling and tossing constantly, caught in some fever dream. A young, red haired nurse whose name he didn't know was by his side more often than not, but in the semi darkness of the room Charlie didn't really see what she was doing. He only heard her reassuring tone.

It almost lulled him back to sleep, but each time his eyes closed he saw the glint of the light against the blade heading for his neck and he jerked awake.

He was caught in some sort of a half asleep half awake state, when he heard a male voice. Charlie startled, then relaxed, feeling silly. He could see an orderly, leaning close to the nurse and whispering something into her ear. She chuckled and Charlie felt a spark of irritation. Really... was this the best place for flirting?

He watched the two interact for a minute then grew tired of it. Perhaps out of annoyance, he decided to turn on his other side, with his back to them. A change of view was in order and the two love birds might get the hint that some of the people around weren't totally out of it.

He had just rolled over, uttering a curse as he felt some of the bruises he forgot about come to life. He heard the nurse clear her throat and the orderly had shut up for about a second. Good. Now he could perhaps focus on the occupant of the other bed... Charlie squinted then huffed, seeing the other bed was empty. Great. It will indeed be a long night.

"Can't sleep, Sergeant?" a voice asked and Charlie startled. He totally forgot about nurse Doris, but she seemed to have noticed his tossing.

"Uh... not tired," he lied, trying to suppress a yawn. She raised an eyebrow at that, obviously not believing him.

"Is something bothering you?" she asked softly while she touched his forehead, checking for fever. Charlie expected the motion, but he had to force himself to stay still and not to shy away instinctively. His nerves seemed to be a little off and any faster movement towards his head sent a jolt through his heart.

He shook his head in response to the nurse's question and hoped she would leave it at that.

"What's the time?" he asked in a whisper, trying not to strain his voice but also not to disturb the other patients around, even though they all seemed to be more lucky on the sleeping department.

"Past two in the morning."

Charlie blinked, a bit surprised at that. He must've slept more than he thought actually. And he was also closer to the morning and hopefully a quick escape from the hospital. He was hoping for the privacy of his own room at least. And a cup of hot tea with some honey. Or a sip from Blake's better whiskey. He really wasn't all that picky.

"Why don't you try to go back to sleep, Sergeant? This time for real?" Doris asked and her mouth twitched in a smile. Charlie cringed, realizing he didn't fool her.

He just opened his mouth to somehow try and convince her he really wasn't all that tired, when there was a loud crash and a yelp. Both Charlie and the nurse startled, looking around.

"What the hell was that?" the orderly grumbled, his romantic courting forgotten for the moment as he headed to the door to check what was happening.

Nurse Doris smiled at Charlie reassuringly, patting his blanket.

"It's alright, Sergeant. Probably just someone getting clumsy."

Charlie hoped that was all. He tried to convince his brain, so that it would slow down his heartbeat. But his skin seemed to crawl and he was struck with a sense of foreboding. The thought that there was a dangerous killer somewhere near kept running through his mind.

Nurse Doris turned away, heading to check on another patient and Charlie looked at the orderly. He stepped out into the corridor and Charlie's ears caught his irritated question.

"What's all that ruckus?" There was a pause, then Charlie noticed the sudden tensing of the man's body and his mouth ran dry.

"What in bloody hell are you doing?" the orderly asked, this time loud enough to be heard through the ward. Charlie recognized the tone of disbelief and wariness and knew it meant just one thing. Trouble.

Charlie watched as the younger nurse joined the orderly, standing behind him. "Richard? What's going on?"

He noted the sudden change in her demeanour as well. He didn't really need to hear much else to make a picture of the situation, but when he heard a familiar voice utter a clear threat, he knew things were bad.

His whole body was screaming at him to stay put, to just let this play out and not to rush into the situation as someone else he knew would do. But his mind and conscience could never live with that.

Charlie was pushing himself out of bed, even as he heard a woman's pained gasp coming from the corridor. He caught sight of a man in an ill fitting police uniform.

Charlie felt his blood run cold. He didn't know who was set to guard the perp, but he was pretty sure that person wouldn't just hand off their clothes without a fight. The thought of a cop possibly lying dead few rooms down made his gut clench, his heart gripped by a surge of anger.

He didn't even realize he was out of bed until the room made a slight spin. Nurse Doris was by his side, eyes wide, obviously torn between doing her job and keeping him in bed and her wish to go and check what was going on outside. She knew there was a suspected killer in the hospital... she must've put two and two together.

"Sergeant-" she started, though she kept her voice down to a whisper even as she grabbed Charlie by the arm.

"Phone?" Charlie asked and was relieved to see her point towards the desk in the corner of the room.

"We use it to call a doctor if needed," she said, frowning. They both froze as they saw the man in the police uniform pass by the door holding a scared looking nurse hostage. Charlie gritted his teeth, feeling the stitches on his neck pulling at skin, the remembered pressure on his windpipe making his hands twitch nervously.

"Call the station," he said in a low voice. She hesitated.

"Go!" Charlie insisted and nudged her away. She quickly crossed the room to the desk with the phone.

He watched as the orderly pushed the other nurse back inside protectively, although he wasn't really appeased by his seemingly threatening posture. Last thing they needed was another civilian getting involved and trying to play hero. The perp was too dangerous, especially with a hostage. Charlie knew from personal experience.

He also knew he should perhaps just follow the situation and wait for help to arrive. But he didn't think he could wait that long. The man most likely killed one of his colleagues... if he got out of the hospital, there was nothing stopping him from killing that nurse as well. Nothing at all.

Charlie's eyes roamed the room even as he was making his slightly unsteady way through it.

He spotted a second door leading to another room. He hoped it wasn't just a broom closet or a bathroom. He could hear nurse Doris' soft voice talking hurriedly into the phone, could see the orderly taking a few more steps out into the corridor, the other nurse covering her mouth with her hands, eyes wide with fear.

Charlie made it to the door surprisingly quickly. Maybe because it felt as if he was walking in a dream... or a nightmare. His body felt just a bit off, not really his own.

The room he stepped into was a small doctor's office, at least that's how it looked in the dim light coming from the ward. Charlie squinted, fervently praying there was another door leading out to the corridor.

He had to blink when he saw that indeed there was a door. Now if only it wasn't locked...

Luck was on his side. He turned the knob and opened the door.

There was no real plan beyond that.

He saw movement just a few steps ahead. Charlie didn't know what made him more outraged. The police uniform on the body of a killer... or the fact he was holding the baton against the poor nurse's neck. Her wide eyes were filled with tears as the suspect spun them both around to face Charlie.

It was as if someone turned off the light.

Charlie wasn't even aware that his body was moving.

One second he was standing in the door, the other his fist connected with a body.

They all went crashing down to the floor.

Charlie's eyes caught sight of the nurse's uniform, rolling to the side.

Out of way.

Good.

What happened next was unclear.

He felt the body underneath trying to throw him off, but Charlie clung on, letting out all the anger and rage.

He punched whatever was within his reach.

It might've not been too strong or precise.

But it felt good.

He managed to deliver an especially satisfying kick with his knee, when the man somehow managed to get over the initial shock and started fighting back. He rolled them both over and Charlie was suddenly on his back. The suspect towered over him, face pulled into an ugly grimace.

The grimace turned into pure hate as the man recognized Charlie's face.

"YOU!" he spat, his arm shooting right for Charlie's neck.

Charlie felt fingers digging into already bruised skin, his throat closing up on memory.

This was it.

He was going to die by this man's hands... strangled for the second time.

Charlie's eye widened as his chest heaved for breath. The fingers squeezed painfully and he let out something like a gasp.

His limbs flailed in a last ditch attempt to free himself.

The man bared his teeth, the stench of his breath hitting Charlie in the face.

His sight was starting to give out, darkness creeping around the edges.

Something white moved in from the side.

Charlie blinked.

He caught a quick movement, glint of metal.

The man over him let out a surprised yelp, jerking. The hand digging into Charlie's neck suddenly gave up as the man grasped at the back of his own neck.

As the pressure on his windpipe released, Charlie took in a gasped breath. Then another.

The man's form suddenly became lax and fell back down.

Once again knocking Charlie's breath out of him as the full weight rested on his chest.

Charlie gave an undignified squeak as the man's head landed on his shoulder.

He didn't have the strength to roll him off of him.

Fortunately, he didn't have to.

Suddenly, the corridor filled up.

Several hands grasped the unconscious man and pulled him off of Charlie.

Finally, he could breathe.

Rolling over to his side, Charlie gasped and coughed, trying to suppress the urge to vomit as he was hit with a wave of dizziness.

A hand touched his shoulder and Charlie jerked away on instinct.

"It's alright, it's just me," nurse Doris said, her voice shaky but still strong.

Charlie looked up at her, cursing his blurry vision. The world was still swimming around.

"Are you hurt, Sergeant?" she asked and Charlie gave a small shake of head. Not that he could really tell, with everything hurting. Doris grimaced, kneeling down next to him. She started checking him out, while casting a worried glance to the side.

Charlie followed her gaze and saw the other nurse weeping on the floor. She looked scared and her shaky hand was reaching up towards her throat. Charlie understood just how she felt. He wanted to get up and console her somehow, but the red haired nurse was there, doing just that.

Charlie blinked and next thing he saw was the woman being led away.

Nurse Doris next to him was holding his wrist, checking his pulse. The gentle touch felt soothing after the previous struggle, and he would have closed his eyes and relaxed, if not for the realization he was lying on the cold floor in the corridor... and there was a killer nearby.

Charlie pulled his hand out from the surprised nurse's grip and attempted to get up.

She had none of it though.

Her hands pushed him back down quite easily.

"Stay still," she reprimanded. "Dr. Johnson is on his way, he will check you out first."

"-m fine," Charlie protested with a glare. He wanted to get up but recognized the determined look in the nurse's eyes. So he gave up the struggle for a second. He still turned his head to get a look around, unable to lie still without knowing where the threat was.

Only a few feet away from him it seemed. The man was lying in a heap, the orderly kneeling on his legs while another man Charlie didn't know was holding down his shoulders. It seemed quite a pointless effort though, seeing the state he was in.

"How?" Charlie asked, turning his gaze back to the nurse.

Nurse Doris held out an empty syringe.

"Sedative," she said with a rather satisfied smirk.

Charlie couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.

"And if you don't settle down, you'll be next," she warned as Charlie tried to sit up once again.

He knew it was an empty threat, or well, as empty as that syringe was currently. Still, he raised his hand in a gesture of giving up then closed his eyes, feeling he more than deserved a bit of rest. Enjoying the simple fact that the threat was momentarily gone, Charlie took in as deep a breath as he managed. The weariness hit him and he thought this time he might perhaps even sleep without dreaming.

* * *

Waking up to the sound of a ringing phone in the middle of the night wasn't unusual to Blake. Though it was always unwelcome. He couldn't remember an instance when a late night call didn't mean bad news. Usually it was a patient taking a turn for worse. Blake could deal with that, more often than not. Sometimes it was the station, calling for him as well as Matthew because a body had popped up somewhere. Those were worse. While Blake cared for his patients and didn't wish them any ill will, when picking up the phone, he always hoped it was just a late night stomach ache or fever. Not a dead body.

Most of all, he always hoped it wasn't someone he truly cared about.

Of course, he wasn't really sleeping when the phone rang. He hardly could, with his mind returning to the day's events. He had been tossing for over an hour, and when Jean muttered something from her sleep in protest, he decided it would be best to let her sleep. So he was sitting in his office, sipping on one measly glass of whiskey and attempting to read a book. He was rather failing at it and had just managed to nod off, his chin hitting his chest when the ringing startled him.

He jumped and reached for the phone so fast, the second ring was cut in the middle. Perhaps it was enough to keep the rest of the household sleeping.

"Dr. Blake's office," he said, running one hand over his eyes, trying to clear them. He listened to the caller, his body tensing with each word, until he sat there stiffly, feeling cold fingers run down his spine.

"Yes. I'll be there. Thank you for calling," Blake put the phone back on the cradle and let out a sigh.

He didn't really want to go and wake Matthew, but he knew the phone would most likely ring again within the next few minutes, this time requesting Lawson.

Blake took the half full glass and finished it off in one swallow, then headed towards Matthew's room. He clenched and unclenched his right hand a few times, savouring the feeling of bruised knuckles. God, how he wished he had done more damage. This wouldn't have been an issue then.

He knocked on the door and was a bit surprised when instead of a grumbled voice the man in question opened the door.

Blake blinked.

"I heard the phone," Lawson grumbled. "Well?" he snapped, his patience obviously not cut out for late night calls.

"It was the hospital. There was an escape attempt and a hostage situation-" Blake said, quickly raising his hands in a calming gesture when he saw Lawson's eyes widening.

"Everyone is fine," Blake said, hoping he wasn't lying. But it wouldn't do for Lawson rushing out and crashing the car in the middle of the night. "Well... mostly fine. No one died."

"Yet," Lawson growled under his breath threateningly. Blake sighed.

"Is the situation under control?" Lawson asked and Blake nodded. At least that was good news. Without a word, Lawson turned back to his room and Blake realized he was grabbing some clothes. Under different circumstances he might've objected and told Matthew things could wait until morning. The nurse that called him said things were under control and everyone was stable or being treated. They wouldn't have called, but he requested to be notified if anything happened with Charlie. Obviously, being once again in the thick of things counted as such a situation.

Blake really wanted to ream the boy out. After all, he left him resting peacefully under belief that there was no danger lurking around.

Blake grimaced. He didn't know the details; the phone call was too short for that and the nurse herself sounded shaken up a bit. Perhaps Charlie had been just an innocent bystander pulled into the situation. Blake somehow doubted that.

With a shake of a head he headed upstairs. He wouldn't let Matthew drive his car when he was in such a mood... and really. Blake couldn't find sleep before the call. There was no way he would manage now, unless he made sure Charlie was alright.

He sneaked into his room, softly so as not to wake up Jean. Of course the phone had decided to ring once again just as he was pulling out a shirt from the closet.

Lawson picked it up soon enough, but Jean had woken up already.

"Lucien? What's going on?" she asked, turning on the bedside lamp and squinting at his half clothed form in confusion.

"Nothing, go back to sleep," he tried to reassure her but the glare she shot him made it clear his attempt was futile and quite ridiculous. He sighed and carefully relayed the phone call he got. He didn't even finish when she was up and reaching for her own clothes.

"I'm coming with you," she stated but Blake shook his head.

"That would be no use, dear. It's way past visiting hours."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You mean to tell me I wouldn't be let in?" she put her arms on her hips and Blake swallowed, treading carefully.

"I'm sure you could force your way, but... trust me. Charlie is fine. He's most likely already asleep and seeing all three of us barging in would only... make him feel overwhelmed," Blake fished for the right word.

Jean huffed.

"Oh. So it's alright that you and Matthew will be there? But not me?"

Blake sighed.

"You know I didn't mean it that way. Matthew needs to do his job, make sure the bastard is locked up properly this time. And that nothing else happens."

Jean was still frowning, but she put the clothes down.

"The only reason why I'm staying behind is because I know you haven't slept a wink and will need to catch up later on. Make sure Charlie is alright... and tell him I'll be there first thing in the morning."

"Yes, madam," Blake said with a smile and stepped over to Jean to plant a kiss on her lips. "Will do," he muttered as he pulled away with a sigh.

" _Blake! If you don't get your ass down, I'm taking your car myself!"_ Lawson's voice carried upstairs and Blake rolled his eyes.

"Joke's on him. I've got the keys right there," he said with a smirk, patting on his trouser pockets. Jean just rolled her eyes and snuck back into bed.

"Wake me up when you come home," she said softly as Blake finished buttoning up his shirt.

"Will do, dear," he said, patting the blanket covering her legs and headed out. He wouldn't put it past Lawson to try and hotwire his car, just for the fun of it.

* * *

Despite his wishes, Charlie couldn't really fall asleep right away. There was just too much movement around. First the doctor checking him out, startling him by trying to touch his throat without a proper warning. Charlie, still lying on the stupid floor in the corridor, half asleep, almost decked him. Fortunately for the man, Charlie's aim had been off and he managed to get out of the way. Of course, that didn't endear Charlie to the man in the least. He gruffly ordered for Charlie to be taken back to his bed. Once there he made a hasty exam that Charlie forced himself to tolerate even though his teeth were gritted the whole time.

He was rather relieved when the doctor deemed him quite alright and left him to the much gentler care of the nurses.

"She okay?" Charlie asked, nodding towards the door to the doctor's office. The nurse that was held hostage had absconded there, plied with some hot tea and a blanket to get over the shock of the situation.

"Rachel will be just fine. Her fiancée is already on his way to pick her up," nurse Doris said with a smile. He had to appreciate how she seemingly bounced right back and was handling the situation. It was clear why she was in charge of the night shift.

Charlie swallowed, grimacing. It felt like there was a rock stuck in his throat and he really didn't relish the feeling. When the nurse handed him a glass of water, he took it thankfully. Slow, small sips of the cool liquid felt almost heavenly.

"Thanks," he rasped back. He wanted to ask, make sure that when he rushed the man and they all fell that the nurse, _Rachel,_ didn't get hurt, but that would require too much talking. Still, there was another person he needed to know about.

"The cop?" he asked, preparing himself for the bad news. Nurse Doris' face turned a bit unsure and Charlie closed his eyes, already imagining another Ned and thinking 'No. Not again.'

A soft hand touched his shoulder and he opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to give the wrong impression. He's alive. The doctor is still with him, making sure it's just a concussion and nothing more serious."

Charlie blinked.

"He's alive?" he asked, surprise clear in his voice.

"Oh dear," nurse Doris got that look on her face, the one where she realised what Charlie had been thinking all this time. "Of course, he is alive. Might be spending a few days here with us, but I'm sure he will be alright."

Charlie felt relief wash over him. So in all this mess, no one had been hurt seriously, no one was killed. He was truly grateful for that if nothing else.

He was just about dozing off, when he was once again pulled into reality by an unexpected, familiar voice.

Blake?

Charlie's brows turned into a frown. Did he actually fall asleep and was it morning already? Or did they call Blake in the middle of the night?

"Charlie?" the man in question was now standing next to his bed, a weary look on his face.

"What time?" Charlie asked, confused, looking around. Blake's frown deepened, but he replied.

"Around three in the morning. Didn't mean to wake you up, sorry," Blake said, although it was clear he was relieved when Charlie actually spoke to him.

Charlie huffed, running a hand over his face, making an effort not to touch his throat. The edges of the bandage covering the cut felt irritating. Anything touching his neck at this point, even just the pillow underneath, felt a bit too much for Charlie.

"Wasn't asleep," he grumbled, even though it was clearly a lie.

Blake let out a snort, then with a sigh pulled over a chair. Charlie gave him a curious look. He wanted to ask what was up, but he didn't feel like talking. He was happy that he could still breathe relatively normally, he didn't have the energy or oxygen required for long conversations. Or the brain power obviously, he noted when his eyes threatened to slip closed.

"If I'd known I will get a call in the middle of the night about you being involved in a hostage situation... I would've just told the nurse to sedate you for the night," Blake spoke all of a sudden, though Charlie wasn't sure if it was meant for his ears or not. He opened his eyes and saw Blake's pointed look. Oh well.

"Not m' fault," he said sleepily.

Blake huffed, but gave him a reassuring pat on the hand.

"Indeed. I heard you helped save nurse Rachel," Blake noted and Charlie gave a half shrug.

"As I heard it, Davis just weighed the perp down," came the stoic sounding voice of his superior. "Nurse Doris was the one with enough brain cells to actually use the sedative," Lawson added with a smirk. Charlie groaned and rolled his eyes, knowing it was just impossible to get some recognition for what he did. Not that he was seeking recognition at this point... he would just as well accept a 'good job' or hell... his bed in his own room, with doors that locked. So perhaps there wouldn't be several people around his bed in the middle of the night, while he was trying to sleep.

"Ungrateful bunch," he muttered under his breath, shooting Lawson an uncoordinated scowl and made a point to close his eyes, arms crossed over his chest.

He wanted to think the amused chuckle he heard was just his imagination. After all, Matthew Lawson never chuckled.

* * *

It took two days to find out who was the man responsible for the death of one Mrs. Wheeler, several missing pets and of course the attack on two police officers and a nurse. All in all it was quite a rep, but as Charlie found out early afternoon on this sunny day, it was barely the tip of the iceberg.

Raymond Bale was the name of the perp that was now currently residing in one of their cells, awaiting transport to Sydney where he would most likely face life in prison or a death sentence. He was indeed the son of Mrs. Wheeler and Peter Bale. Both deceased.

Charlie didn't care. He was sitting outside in the garden, the slight breeze against his face a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere of a hospital room.

He was lucky... or perhaps just persistent... and managed to leave the hospital late morning after Bale's thwarted escape attempt. He was still sore all over and his neck was bruised, but the swelling was coming down and he managed to take in a deep breath without much trouble. It was a relief indeed.

Charlie turned his face skywards towards the sun and closed his eyes. The warmth felt nice on his skin and the air smelled of all the flowers Jean took such great care of.

"Enjoying the downtime?"

Charlie felt the bench move a bit as Blake settled down next to him.

He gave a hum then lazily looked at the man when he felt he was being watched.

"Checking up on me?" Charlie asked with an amused undertone. Blake shrugged, grimacing.

"Nah. Jean kicked me out. Something about distracting her in the kitchen," Blake said, sounding a bit outraged at the mere suggestion.

Charlie snorted. He could imagine. Blake either had all your attention or he was a distracting bugger. Nothing in between it seemed.

There was a minute or two of comfortable silence, both men lost in thought or simply enjoying the sun. Until Charlie spoke.

"I don't get it sometimes," he muttered, sounding tired despite having done nothing but resting the last two days.

"What do you mean Charlie?" Blake asked carefully.

Charlie shrugged.

"Bale." And Charlie refused the call the man Ray. That was just the cherry on the top really. "What he did... to his own mother. I don't get it," he shook his head in disgust.

It had taken them some time to get the information on the man, mostly because he refused to say a word after he woke up from the sedation. It didn't matter who was giving him a third degree, the man had just clammed up. Until word came back from Sydney about a bank robbery in a small nearby town and a certain Raymond Bale. Wanted for murder of a guard and his own father as well. His mother was thought to be missing and until now thought of as dead, which just made things a bit more confusing.

But armed with the name and the file, Lawson had finally managed to push just the right buttons. Knowing he was busted, that there were people coming for him, made Bale's whole facade crumble. One 'innocent' comment from Hobart and the man exploded in a fury of flailing limbs and spitting words.

Somehow they managed to put together a picture of what happened, albeit Charlie knew many details were lost to them. Like where did the money from the bank robbery go...

Their only lead was the latest letter that arrived from Perth, sent a day before Mrs. Wheeler's death. The postman brought the envelope to the police station. When they opened it, instead of a written letter they found a check. Well, that explained how she got her money, but not where it came from. According to the records from the local bank, Mrs. Wheeler received payments from several different accounts that turned up to be fakes.

There was someone, or perhaps even several people, whom Mrs. Wheeler trusted and had sent the original money. How much of that was spent and how much was left was unknown. It didn't really matter anymore. The bank that Bale robbed had gone bankrupt about a year prior. They hardly needed the money back. Charlie just would've liked to know. Who was so trustworthy to send money to but not trustworthy enough to be in personal contact with?

Unfortunately, not even Bale knew the answer. After all, if he had known, he would have been long gone.

"Sometimes the pressure is just too much," Blake spoke calmly. Charlie startled from his thoughts.

"Huh?"

Blake raised a brow.

"You said-"

"I know. I just don't get it. What pressure? He could've left anytime. Don't tell me there was no way he could muster up some money and leave the country, start somewhere new."

Blake shrugged.

"Perhaps he did love his mother after all... didn't want to leave her alone."

Charlie snorted. Some love that was.

"Maybe he just wanted the money," he answered his own musings.

"It is possible," Blake acquiesced.

Charlie shook his head in disgust.

"He's crazy, Doc. Trust me. His eyes... you saw how he was at the house. How..." Charlie felt his own voice choke off at the memory of the crushing pressure, then the glint of the blade. He swallowed, wishing he had brought a glass of cold water or iced tea from the kitchen.

"From what I saw and heard... he didn't have the easiest childhood." Blake raised a hand when he saw Charlie's glare and mouth opening in a protest. "I know. It's no excuse for what he did. Maybe he would've turned out a crazy killer even without an abusive father. We won't know. In the end, he chose for himself."

Charlie scoffed, still not happy with the explanation. He knew that people broke under pressure, especially if it was applied for a long time. Some people broke... some were made stronger. His right hand sneaked up to his neck, fingers gently tracing a row of stitches. The skin was still sensitive but at least it wasn't the angry hot red of the previous day.

The touch reminded him of a moment when he lie on the ground, cradled by Blake. The man's hand pressing against the cut, slowing the bleeding.

"Sometimes, the right amount can save a life," Charlie thought, not realizing he spoke out loud.

"What?" Blake looked at him with a frown and Charlie let his hand drop, giving a small shake of head. Then he smiled.

"Nothing. Just... wanted to say thanks, Doc. For being there."

Blake's eyebrows went up then relaxed and a reassuring smile touched his lips.

"Anytime, Charlie," he said and Charlie knew from experience that he meant it.

**THE END**


End file.
